CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(IMonog  raphe) 


ICIMH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Instituta  for  Historical  Microroproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiquea 


1994 


Taehnieal  and  BibNofraphie  New  /  Ne«a  iMlmiqiin  ct  biMiofriphiquM 


Tht  Iratitutt  hM  attampttd  to  obtain  tht  bait  oritinal 
copy  availaMa  fof  f ibninf.  Faattira*  of  this  copy  wMch 
may  ba  biblioirapbically  uniqya.  wbieb  may  allar  any 
of  Hw  imagas  in  tha  raproduction,  or  wMob  may 
significantly  ehante  tba  uaual  matbod  of  filmint.  am 
cnacKVw  oaiow. 


0Colourad  eovan/ 
Couvartwa  da  eouiawr 


□  Co«art  damagad/ 
Couvartwa 


□  Covart  rattorad  and/or  laminaiad/ 
Couvartura  rastaurte  at/ou  paUieuMa 

□  Co«ar  titia  mininfl/ 
La  titra  da  eotivartura  manqua 


□  Colourad  maps/ 
Cartas  ftoirapbiquas  I 


L'Inttitut  a  mietofilm4  la  maillawr  axamplaira  qu'il 
luiaMpoasibladasaproairar.  Las  dttails  da  eat 
ammpMra  qui  sent  peut-«tra  uniques  du  pc  m  da  vi 
biblioiraphiqua.  qui  peuvant  modif  iar  una  imaia 
rtpraduita.  ou  qui  pawMnt  axiiar  una  modification 
dans  la  mMioda  normale  da  f  ibnaie  sent  J 
ci-dassous. 

□  Colourad  paflss/ 
Pagn  ^  coulaur 


D 

□  PkfM  rastorad  and/br  laminated/ 
P»|as  rattaurtes  at/ou  paNicuHaj 

r^l  P»tas  diseoloured.  stained  or  fomd/ 


n 


Pkgasditaebias 


Coloursd  ink  <i.a.  other  than  Mua  or  Week)/ 
Encra  da  couleur  (i.a.  autre  que  Meue  ou  noire) 


0  Colourad  platH  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planchas  at/ou  illustrations  an  couleur 


D 


Bound  with  other  malarial/ 
RcM  evec  d'autras  doeumanti 


□  Tifht  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

Le  reliura  sarrte  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  dt  la 
distorsion  le  long  de  la  marga  intirieure 

□  Blenk  leavas  addad  during  restoration  may  appaer 
within  the  text  Whenever  possible,  these  have 
been  omitted  from  fihning/ 
II  sepeut  que  certainespagas  blanches  ajoutfas 
lors  d'une  rastauration  apparaissant  dans  lo  taxta. 
mais.  lorsque  eela  itait  possible,  ces  pegn  n'ont 
pas  M  fibntes. 


□ 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commantairas  tupplfanentairas: 


HShowthrough/ 
Transparence 

□  Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualiti  in«gala  de  I'impression 

□  Continuous  peginetion/ 
Pagination  continue 

□  Includes  indix(es)/ 
Comprend  un  (das)  index 

Title  on  header  taken  from:/ 
Le  titre  de  I'en-ttte  provient: 


□  Title  pegs  of  issue 
Pags  de  titre  de  la 

□  Caption  of 
Titre  da  d« 


issue/ 

livraison 


issue/ 
depart  da  la  livraison 

□  Masthaed/ 
Ginirique  (piriodiqucs)  de  la  livraison 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  su  taux  de  rMuetton  fndique  ci-dessous. 

10X  ux 


itx 


12X 


1SX 


J 


aox 


22X 


2CX 


30X 


24X 


28X 


UX 


Th«  copy  filmad  here  has  b««n  reproduced  thanks 
to  tho  gonoroaity  of: 

Nritional  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplairo  filmi  fut  raproduit  grica  i  la 
g*n*roait4  da: 

BibliotMqua  nationala  du  Canada 


Tha  imagaa  appearing  hara  art*  tfia  boat  quality 
possibia  considaring  tlia  conA)*:on  and  lagiblllty 
of  tlia  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apacificatlons. 


Original  eopiaa  in  printed  paper  covera  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
^he  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sian,  or  the  beck  cover  when  epproprlate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  pege  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  Impres- 
sion, end  ending  on  tlte  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  lest  recorded  frame  on  eech  mieroficlte 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -^  (meening  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Lee  imeges  suh^antae  ont  4t«  raproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soln.  compta  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattet*  de  I'exempiaire  film*,  et  en 
conformitA  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
fiimege. 

Les  exemplalres  orlginaux  dont  la  couvorture  en 
papier  eat  Imprimte  aont  fiimte  en  commen^ant 
par  la  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
darniire  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  la  second 
plot,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplairee 
orlginaux  sont  fiimte  en  commen^ent  par  ia 
pramlAre  pege  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impreaalon  ou  d'illustretion  et  en  terminent  per 
le  demlire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  dee  symboles  suivsnts  apparaftra  sur  la 
darniire  Image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  ie 
cas:  la  symboia  — »>  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
aymbole  ▼  algnifia  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  cherts,  etc..  mey  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  retios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  In  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  end  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  Illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Mre 
fllmte  i  dea  taux  de  rMuction  diffirents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atra 
raproduit  en  un  seul  clich4,  il  est  film*  k  partir 
de  i'engle  supArieur  gauche,  de  geuche  *  droite, 
et  de  tiaut  en  bes,  en  prenent  le  nombre 
d'images  nteessaire.  Lea  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mAthodo. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MKROCOTY  MSOUITION  TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHAUT  No.  2) 


xIPPLIED  IN/MGE    Inc 

^^^_  1653  East  Main  StrMt 

^^B^S  Rochester,   New  York        U609       USA 

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^^[^B  (716)  2S8  -  »S9  -  Fo> 


^^^.7L 


In  tbe  Dour  of  S«encc 


BY  JOHN  EDGAR  McPADYEN, 
B.A.(07)ii),  M.A.(Gl«i.) 

THE   DIVINE    PURSUIT 


"Davotional  booki  ol  th«  hlgh-flMt  to  which  this 
volume  balongi  are  rate  and  precloui.  Th«  author, 
by  help  ol  •ymDalhctic  Iniight  Into  the  soul  ol  man 
and  its  tatlsfaciion  In  tha  gotoel  of  Christ,  has  spoken 
words  which  will  be  a  source  oi  strength  and  comfort 
to  many  readers."  —  Tk*  CangrtgationalUt  and 
CkrMian  Wtrld. 

"By  Its  excellence  and  Its  helpfulness  It  will 
keeu  Its  place  for  many  a  day  among  the  enduring 
hooks  that  minister  to  the  life  of  the  spirit.  .  .  . 
There  is  indeed  beaten  gold  here,  and  were  such  as 
this  the  result  and  outiiut  of  all  critical  study  of  the 
Bible,  Christianity  and  the  Church  would  be  greatly 
the  richer  because  ol  It."— 7>«  WtHmiHiltr, 

"A  devotional  book  of  rare  excellence.  Its  beautv 
ol  diction,  its  lofty  range  of  spiritual  thought,  will 
commend  It  wherever  it  enters.  This  little  book 
will  And  Its  way  into  many  homes,  and  it  will  bring 
atimulus  to  many  a  discouraged  one.  It  Is  unpre- 
tentious, and  It  Is  none  the  less  welcome  because  It 
makes  no  high  claim.  It  meets  men  where  the  need 
Is  greatest.  In  the  itress  of  life,  and  bring  a  message 
of  cheer  to  them  there."— TVI*  Pr*$bfl*Ham  Ktvitw. 

"Each  one  o(  the  short  and  crisp  chapters  ol  this 
book— there  are  twenty-four  In  all— is  a  homily  of 
deliccte  and  true  exegesis,  all  parts  harmonious,  no 
Joints  or  flexures  ol  obtruding  lecture-room  or 
lexicon,  but  all  deftly  woven  Into  a  unique  statement, 
in  which  by  direct  or  Implied  reference,  the  Scrip- 
tural Is  exploited  to  the  uses  of  true  devotion  and 
pure  communion  with  the  will  and  wisdom  and  the 
ove  ot  GoA."—Tk*  £vaHg*tist. 

"The  quest,  both  of  man  lor  God  and  of  God  for 
nan  Is  the  general  subject  of  these  brief  chapters  of 
devotional  meditation.  They  breathe  an  invigorating 
air  on  the  uplanda  ol  spiritual  Mt."— Outlook. 

"The  little  book  is  great  In  Its  simplicity,  sweetnesa 
and  strength.  The  fruitage  of  a  finely  cultured 
spiritual  life  Is  here  and  its  wine  flows  forth  in  these 
helpful  paragraphs."— A'n'.  F.  W.  Gutisauius,  D.  D. 

l2mo,  doth,  gilt  top,  net,  |i.oo 


IN  THE  HOUR 
OF  SILENCE 


JoMM  Edoa»  McPadyen.  B.A.(Oxon  )M.A.(Glia  ) 


Cblcgo  New  York  Toronto 

Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 

London  &  Edinburgh 
MCMII 


COPYRIGHT,  190a, 
BY  FLEMING  H. 
RBVKLL    COMPANY 

September 


0   900372 


in    SORROW    AND    IN    LOV« 

1   DEDICATE  THIS    BOOK 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

PROFESSOR  ANDREW  HALLIDAY  DOUGLAS. 

A  LOYAL  FRIEND,  A  BRILLIANT  AND  VERSATILE  COLLEAGUE, 

AND  A  TRUE  CHRISTIAN  SCHOLAR, 

WHO,  BY  HIS  MANIFOLD  CHARM  OF  MIND  AND  HEART, 

HIS  LOVE  OF  ALL  NOBLE  LEARNING, 

HIS    NATIVE    GENTLENESS  AND   CHIVALRY, 

HIS  PURE  AND   BEAUTIFUL  LIFE, 

AND  BY  HIS  INSPIRING,  GENEROUS  AND  UNSELFISH  SERVICE 

DURING  HIS  TOO  BRIEF  TENURE  OF  THE 

CHAIR  OF  APOLOGETICS  IN  KNOX  COLLEGE,  TORONTO, 

WON  AN  ABIDING  PLACE 

IN  THE   AFFECTIONS  OF   ALL, 


PREFACE 

Like  its  predecessor,  The  Divine  Pur- 
suit, this  little  volume  is  j*  -oup  of  brief 
meditations  on  some  of  the  things  that 
pertain  to  the  spiritual  life.  The  studies 
are  brief,  because  they  are  meant  to  be 
suggestive  rather  than  exhaustive.  Elab- 
orate discussion  does  not  always  illumi- 
nate. The  best  thing  one  can  do  for  a 
text  is  to  let  it  shine  in  its  own  light. 

The  impulse  to  these  chapters  came 
from  many  quarters,  but  most  powerfully 
and  frequently  from  Scripture  itself. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  richest 
devotional  results  are  reached  by  the 
closest  and  most  sympathetic  exegetical 
study.  In  these  days  of  criticism,  it  is 
well  to  assure  ourselves  that  the  positive 
religious  content  of  Scripture  remains  not 
only  unharmed,  but  untouched.  Its  power 
to  kindle    and   inspire,  to  comfort  and 

7 


8 


preface 


encourage  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day, 
and  forever.  And  it  is  the  religious 
teacher's  duty,  as  it  should  be  his  delight, 
to  discover  the  life  which  throbs  and 
glows  in  its  ancient  words,  and  so  to  pre- 
sent that  life  that  it  shall  govern  the 
mind,  the  heart,  and  the  conscience  of 
to-day. 

Of  these  chapters,  three— TAe  Balsam 
Vale,  Like  Them  That  Dream,  and  The 
Stranger  at  the  Door—hzve  already  ap- 
peared in  The  Interior;  one— The  Place  of 
Memory— m  The  Sunday  Scliool  Times; 
others  in  The  Westminster.  To  the  edi- 
tors of  all  these  magazines  I  am  deeply 
indebted  for  their  courteous  permission 
to  reprint  the  chapters  referred  to.  In 
their  new  setting,  may  they  help  to  sus- 
tain the  hearts  of  any  who  are  sad  or  de- 
feated or  weary ! 

JOHN   E.  McFADYEN. 

Toronto,  July  9,  1902. 


CONTENTS 


To-Day  and  Forever 

The  Way  That  Perisheth  . 

The  Mirror  of  Opportunity  . 

The  Balsam  Vale  . 

The  Mighty  Men     . 

Misunderstood 

Within  Closed  Doors     . 

The  Anchor  within  the  Veil 

The  Voice  from  the  Shore    . 

Summer  Is  Nigh    . 

The  Shining  Face    . 

A  Broad  Place 

Like  Them  That  Dream  . 

The  Sowing  and  the  Sheaves 

Deep  Digging   .... 

The  Key  of  Knowledge 

Have  Ye  Not  Read? 

The  Things  That  Matter    . 


PASS 

13 

21 
29 

39 

47 

55 

63 

71 

17 

87 

95 
;03 

III 

121 

131 
139 
147 
157 


Contents 

The  Duty  of  Content    . 
The  Great  Elsewhere 
Mindful  of  Him 
The  Place  of  Memory 
The  Stranger  at  the  Door 
One  Step  Enough 


.  183 
191 

.  201 
209 


5c0ua  Cbriat  is  tbc  same  scstcrDay 
anb  tO'bav  anb  torever. 


TO-DAY  AND  FOREVER 

There  are  times  when  the  frailty  of  all 
things  earthly  is  borne  in  upon  us  with  a 
strangely  depressing  power.   In  the  death 
of  a  strong  man,  in  the  coming  of  a  birth- 
day, in  the  passing  of  another  year,  we 
see  the  inexorable  march  of  time  which 
waits  for  nothing,  but  treads   remorse- 
lessly down  all  that  has  ever  been  lovely 
or  dear.    The  dead  have  been  mourned 
and  the  mourners  have  died.    The  life 
that  we  loved  as  our  own  has  vanished 
while  we  looked  upon  it— vanished  and 
left  us  alone  with  a  sense  of  indescribable 
desolation.    Powerless   we  stand    for   a 
little  upon  the  bank  as  the  river  of  time 
rolls  on,  till  one  day  the  bank  crumbles 
beneath  our  feet,  and  we,  too,  are  borne 
on  and  on   where    millions    have    been 
borne  before  us,  leaving  nothing  but  a 
vanishing  memory  to  those  who  will  soon 

13 


M         In  tbe  l^nr  ot  Stience 

themselves  be  forgotten,  and  be  as  though 
they  had  never  been. 

In  such  a  mood  how  sorrowful  must 
the  world  look  to  us— an  ever-widening 
gulf   of   buried    memories    rnd    hopesi 
Time  has  slain  everything.    As  we  look 
back  in  the  quiet  hour  over  a  large  tract 
of  time,  how  strangely  unreal  seem  many 
of  the  issues  for  which  men  have  fought 
and  died!    The   trumpet    has   sounded; 
and  the  cannons  have  roared;  and  the 
steel  has  flashed;    and  thousands   have 
gone  to  a  bloody     -ave.    And  now  it  is 
all  quiet.    The  smoke  has  cleared  away 
from  many  a  battle-field;  and  we  see,  as 
It  were,  phantom  combatants  fighting  too 
often  for  a  phantom    cause.    But    now 
they  are  gone;  and  the  teachers  and  the 
poets  and  the  prophets  are  gone;   and 
the  brave  and  the  fair,  the  good  and  the 
true. 

But  Jesus  Christ  is  the  same,  yester- 
day, to-day  and  forever.  He  does  not  go. 
He  cannot  go.  Lo!  He  is  with  us  all  the 
days  and  all  the  years  to  be,  and  where 
He  IS,  there  also  shall  His  people  be,  im- 


tCo-Oap  Mb  fottvtt  15 

mortal  with  His  immortality.    Above  all 
the  wreck  and  ruin,  He  stands  erect,  with 
eternal  sunshine  upon   His  face.    Time 
cannot  lay  its  blighting  hand  upon  Him. 
Histoty  has  only  shown  Him  to  be  more 
beautiful   and    strong.    Every  age  con- 
firms anew  His  claim,  and  compels  men 
to  wonder  and  adore  Him.    To  Him  they 
brmg  their  shaken   faith  and  shattered 
hopes,  and  He  restores  them  to  quietness 
and  confidence.    Day  by  day  His  silent 
influence  falls  upon   the  world  with  its 
subtle  benediction.     He  faileth  not  and 
changeth  not.    Men  pass,  but  He  abides, 
and  preserves  in  perfect  peace  the  soul 
that  loves  Him  until  that  great  day.    He 
IS  not  one  who  has  had   His  day  and 
ceased  to  be.    No  mere  memory  is  He, 
but  a  living,  gracious  and  abiding  Pres- 
ence. 

What  He  ever  was,  that  He  always  is; 
and  what  He  was,  we  know.  We  look  at 
Him  upon  the  hills,  speaking  His  words 
of  blessedness  to  the  broken  and  the  pure 
m  heart.  We  watch  Him  on  the  lake 
uttering  words  of  life  from  a  boat  to  the 


^        f  n  tbe  ftonr  of  Silence 

eager  crowds  upon  the  shore.    We  see 
Mim,  in  His  own  beautiful  way,  restoring 
the  woman  that  was  a  sinner  to  purity 
and  God.    We  listen  to  Him  as  He  tells 
to  outcast  people  of  the  unutterable  love 
of  the  good  Shepherd,  who  seeks  till  He 
finds,  and  brings  the  wayward  lamb  home 
upon  His  shoulders  rejoicing.    We  listen 
with  glad  awe  as  He  calls  the  twelve  His 
friends,  and  assures  them  that  He  spake 
those  things  to  them,  that  in  Him  they 
might  have  peace  and  fulness  of  joy. 

Such  He  was  then,  and  He  is  the  same 
to^ay  and  forever.     He  passed  from  the 
sight  of  men  to  take  the  place  which  He 
had  won  by  suffering  at  the  right  hand  of 
the  Father,  and  yet  in  every  age  men, 
not  having  seen  Him,  have  loved  Him 
and  looked  upon  Him  as  the  realest  of 
realities.    One  who  knew  Him  not  after 
the  flesh  counted  all  things  but  dung,  if  so 
be  he  might  gain  Him  and  be  found  in 
Him.   Centuries  after,  another  saint  said- 
I  would  I  could  serve  Thee  all  the  da3's  of 
my  life.     I  would  I  were  able  at  least  for 
one  day  to  do  Thee  some  worthy  service. 


«o-5«y  ano  jTorcvcr 


»7 

Fran«rRlH"V"'  ^''•e<^om,."  And 
of  »  if!  ^  '^  Havergal.  a  sweet  singer 
Sn  t-fi.  ■■  ''1?:  ""'==  "What  could  we 
shad''ow,?"'"'""""""'->y-rId:i 

All  the  centuries  ring  with  the  praise, 
tL  •  '"''   "'  "  »»  «»'  and  de^ 

have  V'  r  u    ^°""  '"''"  ""ve  toS^y 
have  heard  the  sound  of  His  voice  Z 

whls^l^eMrht  V'^  ^teoo\" 

Xlfaiit^-thrrvrrH''^^"- 

to-day  in  China  hat:  ^^^e  to  de  tT  i„"Tts 

was  to'rh!!       ^^  ''f "  •"  "'^'"  ^hat  He 

was  to  those  who  Icnew  Him  Ijest-the 

altogether  lovely.  * 

Thus  the  world  is  not  a  silent  burial- 


I8 


In  tbe  "bout  or  Silence 


ground.  It  is  vocal  with  the  praises  of 
Christ.  Nor  has  Time  slain  everything:  it 
has  not  touched  any  life  that  was  hid  with 
Christ  in  God.  He  lives  forever;  and  all 
who  have  ever  loved  Him  He  will  lead 
into  that  glory  which  fadeth  not  away. 


«bc  wa»  or  tbe  wtcftcb  perfabctb. 


THE  WAY  THAT  PERISHETH 

Most  human  lives  lead  nowhere.    Not 
indeed  for  want  of  energy,  but  for  want 
of  nobleness,  concentration,  purpose.    In 
indifference,  if  not  in  sin,  we  wander  over 
our  little  span  of  time,  for  thirty,  fifty, 
seventy  years,  and  end  where  we  began, 
with    nothing    attempted    and    nothing 
done;  or  even,  it  may  be,  further  from 
our  real  destiny  than  when  we  began. 
We  have  allowed  the  daily  burden   to 
crush  the  soul  out  of  us  instead  of  devel- 
oping our  power  to  bear  it.    Opportuni- 
ties have   been   neglected  because  they 
were  not  welcomed  as  gifts:  powers  have 
been  wasted  on  idle  or  unhallowed  things: 
life    has  not  been   felt    to  be  a  march 
towards  eternity.    As  we  walk  aimlessly 
across  its  waterless  plains,  we  see  no  city 
set  upon  a  distant  hill;    and  we  cannot 
hope  to  reach  what  we  do  not  see,  or  at 


21 


22 


In  tbe  Dour  ot  Silence 


least  struggle  towards  in  faith.  So  on  and 
on  we  go,  or  rather  round  and  round,  with 
nothing  to  guide  us  but  our  own  caprice, 
and  nothing  to  sustain  us  but  the  empty 
laughter  of  comrades  as  foolish  as  our- 
selves. And  one  day  we  have  to  call  a 
halt.  The  sun  sets  and  we  have  to  face 
the  terrors  of  the  long  night  alone.  But 
our  path  was  zigzag,  and  such  as  it  was,  it 
is  lost  in  the  sands.  We  did  not  guide 
our  steps  by  the  sun  when  he  was  shining 
in  the  heavens,  and  how  shall  we  know 
our  way  when  the  thick  night  has  come  on? 
Only  the  straight  line  is  infinite.  The 
only  way  which  leads  unerringly  from  this 
life  to  the  life  everlasting,  is  the  straight 
way,  the  way  of  the  upright.  In  the 
empty,  frivolous,  careless  life  there  is 
nothing  eternal,  any  more  than  in  the 
wicked  life,  for  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
that  which  is  alone  eternal,  even  God. 
"Thou  shalt  diligently  consider  his  place, 
and  he  shall  not  be."  "The  way  of  the 
wicked  perishes."  You  see  no  more  of  it. 
It  dies,  as  die  the  caravan  tracks  in  the 
desert. 


TTbe  mws  TCbat  petisbetb       23 

But  do  we  feel  as  Jesus  did  the  terrible 
pathos  of  the  lives  that  lead  nowhere?  To 
Him  such  a  life  was  not  merely  a  mis- 
take, it  was  a  tragedy.    The  crowds  which 
sauntered  thoughtlessly  along  the  broad 
way,   were   not  merely    going    nowhere, 
they  were  moving  to  destruction.    The 
broad  way  was  the  way  of  ease  and  com- 
fort, on  which  a  man  had  room  to  move 
as  he  pleased  without  challenge,  restraint 
or  responsibility:  but  the  end  of  that  way 
was  ruin.     Ruin  to  the  physical  strength 
which  self-indulgence  was  daily  under- 
mining:   ruin    to    the    affections    which 
should  have  opened  and  expanded  like 
the  bud,  but  which  a  too  fierce  or  too 
selfish  passion  had  withered:  ruin  to  the 
powers  which  an   unselfish    love    might 
have   wakened   into  beneficent   activity: 
ruin  to  the  hopes  which  had  brightened 
the  beginning  of  life's  way:  ruin  to  the 
faith  which  means  petce.    So  the  way  of 
the  wicked  does  not  merely  die  out  upon 
the  sand;  it  plunges  over  the  precipice  of 
destruction,  and  hurls  to  their  ruin  those 
who  are  simple  enough  to  travel  along  it. 


34 


In  tbe  Dour  of  Silence 


It  is  hard  to  avoid  a  way  so  pleasantly 
broad,  especially  as  it  is  the  popular  way, 
and  has  abundance  of  good  fellowship  to 
offer:  for  many  there  be  that  go  in  at  the 
gate  that  opens  on  to  it.  And  the  gate  is 
wide  as  the  way  is  broad.  You  will  not 
have  to  leave  anything  behind  when  you 
pass  through  it.  Nothing  has  to  be  paid, 
no  sacrifice  made,  no  darling  sin  aban- 
doned. All  that  you  love  you  may  easily 
take  with  you  through  this  spacious  gate: 
your  vanity  and  your  vice.  But  the  way 
leadeth  in  the  end  to  destruction. 

Sin  of  every  kind  spells  defeat  and  ex- 
tinction. Trace  its  progress  in  your  own 
heart— the  lust  for  pleasure  or  gold  or 
honor— and  mark  how  it  has  ruined  all 
that  was  best  in  you.  Watch  how  those 
who  openly  or  secretly  defy  the  great 
laws  written  in  every  human  heart,  have 
often  to  hide  their  heads  in  poverty  or 
loneliness  or  shame.  See  how  the  nations 
which  have  given  themselves  over  to  the 
lusts  of  the  flesh  have  gone  down  before 
the  inexorable  laws  which  they  defied. 
Before  our  eyes  there  are  nations  dying 


ill 


TTbe  Mai?  Vbat  perfsbetb 


25 


of  their  "centuries  of  folly,  noise  and  sin." 
And  shall  we  be  found  to  fight  against 
God?    Surely  the  way  of  transgressors  is 
hard;  for  all  the  laws  of  God's  world  are 
against  them.    To  connect  ourselves  con- 
sciously with  evil  is  to  evoke  a  Nemesis 
whose  stroke,  be  it  swift  or  slow,  nothing 
but  the  all-pitiful  grace  of  God  can  stay. 
Narrow  is  the  way  that  leadeth  unto 
life,   and  it  is  entered  by  a  strait  gate 
through  which  you  cannot  press  without 
leaving  much  that  is  dear  behind  you: 
friends,    popularity,    delights,  ambitions. 
A  lonely  way  it  is  at  times:  you  may  walk 
on  it  for  days  without  meeting  anybody, 
for  "few  they  be  that  find  it."     But  if  it  is 
lonely,  it  is  sure:  it  will  lead  you  through 
many  a  valley  and  over  many  a  hill,  but 
never  to  destruction.   Every  struggle  with 
the  sin  that  besets,  every  aspiration  after 
a  to-morrow  that  shall  find  us  better  than 
to-day,  every  longing  after  God,  every 
effort  to  help  the  needy  and  cheer  the 
faint  or  falling  is  a  revelation  in  us  of  the 
Avill  of  God,  and  brings  us  further  on  the 
everlasting  way.    The   Lord  loveth  the 


26 


In  tbc  Dour  ot  Silence 


way  of  the  righteous,  and  that  is  a  guar- 
antee of  its  permanence.  So  they  shall 
walk  and  not  faint,  not  even  in  the  valley 
of  the  shadow,  for  they  shall  pass  through 
it  into  the  brightness  of  His  presence. 
No  way  is  eternal  but  the  way  to  God, 
and  "I,"  said  Christ,  "am  the  Way."  The 
feet  may  bleed  that  tread  the  path  He 
trod,  for  it  is  the  way  of  the  Holy  Cross. 
But  it  leads  to  peace  and  light  and  God. 
Therefore 

Search  me,  O  God,  and  know  my  heart: 
Try  me,  and  know  my  thoughts: 

And  see  if  there  be  in  me  any  way  of  grief, 
And  lead  me  in  the  way  everlasting. 


THE  MIRROR  OF  OPPORTUNITY 

Next  to  knowing  God,  the  highest  task 
of  man  is  to  know  himself.  For  self- 
knowledge  is  the  condition  of  all  pro- 
gress, and  it  is  for  progress  that  we  are 
sent  into  the  world;  or  in  the  words  of 
the  apostle,  "to  press  on  toward  the  goal 
unto  the  prize  of  the  high  calling  of  God 
'-«  Christ  Jesus."  If  to-morrow  is  to  find 
i  nearer  that  goal  than  to-day,  then  we 
must  know  what  we  are  and  where  we 
stand  to-day. 

For,  in  the  most  inexorable  way,  what 
we  are  determines  what  we  shall  be:  our 
character  is  the  prophecy  of  our  destiny. 
As  earnestly,  therefore,  as  we  would  fear 
to  be  founc'  reprobate  at  the  last,  as 
eagerly  as  we  would  wish  to  take  our 
place  in  the  ranks  of  the  redeemed 
around  the  throne  of  God,  so  earnestly 
and  so  eagerly  do  we  need  to  examine 

39 


I 


I 


il 


i 


so        In  tbe  ftonr  ot  Silence 

ourselves  and  learn  what  manner  of  men 
we  are. 

Now  this  is  not  easy.    Character  is  a 
thing  of  infinite  complexity.    The  sub- 
tlest influences  are  every  day  at  work 
upon  us,  changing  us  imperceptibly  from 
the  men  we  were  to  the  men  we  shall  be 
when  we  die;  and  few  have  the  skill  to 
trace  those  influences,  and  to  analyze  the 
motives  which  prompt  them  to  this,  and 
deter  them  from  that;  with  the  result  that 
we  are  often  strangers  to  ourselves,  and 
our  character  is  as  an  undiscovered  coun- 
try.    Then  comes    the    deadliest  of  all 
teniptations— for  it  puts  the  soul  to  sleep 
—the  temptation  to  accept   the  world's 
estimate  of    us;    foolishly   happy,    if   a 
world  which  knows  us  not  approve  of  us 
and  foolishly  sorrowful,  if  that  world  con- 
demn us. 

But  whatever  others  may  think  of  us, 
we  are  ultimately  only  what  we  are.  Our 
deepest  concern  is  to  know  that,  to  be 
acquainted  with  the  quality  of  our  inner 
life.  In  whatever  else  we  are  deceived, 
we  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  de- 


trbe  Alrror  of  ^pportnnitv      31 

ceivcd  in  that.    We  must  discover  our- 
selves,  searchingr  relentlessly  till  we  find 
what  we  are,  when   stripped  of  all  the 
accidents  of  reputation   and  office,  and 
how  we  look  in  the  sight  of  Almighty  God. 
That  IS  not  easy,  but  it  is  not  impossi- 
ble;  for  the  tree  is  known  by  its  fruits. 
This  great  word  of  Christ's  we  are  fond 
of  applying  to  the  lives  of  others;  but  it 
tests  our  own  life  as  much  as  it  tests 
another  man's.    We  may  not  be  able  to 
estimate  our  character  as  a  whole,  but  by 
Its  fruits  we  may  know  it.    Every  day  is 
crowded  with  unerring  witnesses  to  the 
nature  and  direction  of  our  inner  life. 
We  cannot  open  our  lips  or  stretch  out 
our  hand,  we  cannot  smile  or  frown  or 
sigh,  without  revealing  the  invisible  spirit 
within  us.    In  the  words  and  deeds  which 
every  living  man  brings  into  being  every 
day,  his  spirit  takes  to  itself  an  awful  and 
irretrievable  reality.    In  that  world  of  his 
own  creation  he  may  see  himself  reflected 
with  a  fidelity  which  would  often  make 
him   shudder,  did  he  but  look    himself 
trankly  in  the  face. 


32 


In  tbc  Dour  of  Silence 


The  events  of  our  lives  are  not  mere- 
ly things  that  happen;  on  the  one  hand, 
they  are    revelations   of    the    discipline 
through    which    God    is    searching    and 
refining  us;  and  on  the  other,  our  atti- 
tude to  them  yields  us  a  revelation  of 
ourselves.    They  are  as  a   mirror,   into 
which  he  who  steadily  looks  cannot  fail 
to  find  his  own  image  reflected.     Under 
a  given  provocation,  one  man  will  hold 
his  peace;  another  will  break  forth  into 
hot  and  unconsidered  words.     Both  men 
stand  as  by  a  flash  revealed.    The  situa- 
tion has  given  them  their  opportunity  to 
disclose   themselves;    nay,   more,   it    has 
compelled  them  to  disclose   themselves. 
It  was  a  challenge.    They  could  not  be 
where  they  were  without  showing  what 
manner  of  men  they  were.    The  provoca- 
tion did  not  of  itself  make  the  one  man 
angry;  it  found  him  angry,  it  found  him 
the  slave  of  momentary  passion.    Thus 
the  spirit  is  manifested.    The  veil  which 
hid  the  real  men  from  us  has  been  rolled 
back.    They  have  revealed  their  charac- 
ter to  the  world,  but  not  less  to  them- 


^be  mtm  Of  ©fi^oimnit?      33 

selves;  and  for  the  .an  nf  tu^ 

a  new  career  of  self-control.  ^ 

be    the  most  commonplace  as  well  as  the 

noThfn      ,^^^'^^^  he  does  something  or 

TnactvL   V'"''^^  ^'"^^^'^-    A^t-n'^or 
inactivity,  silence  or  speech-it  is  all  one 

eloquent,   impartial,   ceaseless  testTmony 

measte'"of  1"  °'  ''^  T'''    ^^^  "' 
measure  of  a   man    ,s    his  response   to 

opportunity.    As  he  acts,  so  is  he     Anv 

tTormo'^  "^^  T  '^"^^^'^'-  -P' -lly  in' 
those  moments  when  he  is  taken  off  his 


34 


In  tbc  Dour  ot  Silence 


the  criminars  doom.  In  such  a  moment, 
our  dark  self  stands  forth  with  awful 
clearness,  as  if  lit  with  a  sudden  lightning 
flash.  It  is  ours  to  look  and  learn. 
Those  are  precious,  though  bitter,  mo- 
ments, to  one  who  is  honestly  anxious  to 
know  himself.  They  enable  us  to  look 
ourselves  in  the  face,  and  to  grow, 
through  pain  and  repentance,  into  an- 
other and  a  fairer  life. 

We  may  also  learn   to   measure  our 
moral  worth  by  watching  how  we  behave, 
when  the    restraints,  which    hedge   our 
ordinary  life  about,  are  withdrawn.    With 
what  a  shock  of  surprise  do  we  discover 
how   lax  good  men  can   be   on  holiday! 
They  indulge  themselves  in  ways  that  at 
home  they  would  hardly  consider  legiti- 
mate.   They    neglect    duties   which    at 
home  they  seem  to  regard  as  peremptory. 
Their  indifference  to  the  things  of  God  is 
in  painful  contrast  to  their  profession  and 
performances  at  home.    The  holiday  has 
given  them  their  chance  to  display  their 
true  self,  and  there  they  stand  revealed 
in  all  the  nakedness  of  their  spiritual  life. 
In  general,  travel  affords  men  a  fine 


Ubc  mtvox  or  ©pportunftj       35 

opportunity  to  study  themselves.  The 
presence  of  other  standards  and  often 
lower  Ideals  tests  the  strength  of  principle 

in  the  heart  of  a  foreign  city,  and  a 
stranger  to  all  but  the  God  above  him.  is 
drawn,  perchance,  by  the  subtle  spell  of 
pleasures  which  he  would  not  count  inno- 
cent  at  home.  Then  he  learns,  as  he 
never  knew  before,  how  pitiful  a  figure  he 
really  is.  The  temptation  has  revealed 
him  to  himself.  And  woe  to  such  an  one 
who  does  not  fear,  with  an  exceeding 

^^'\   Txf  n'T^H"^''  ^^^^^  ^^  "ow  must 
own!    Well  for  him  if,  in  such  an  hour,  he 

remember  his  mother's  God! 

By  looking  upon  what  we  have  done, 
by  reflecting  upon  what  we  have  said,  by 
watching  ourselves  in  excited  or  critical 
moments,  we  get  glimpses  of  that  strange 
unseen  spirit  of  ours,  from  which  all  our 
words  and  deeds  proceed.   Little  by  little 
we  learn  to  know  ourselves.    We  learn  to 
see  ourselves,  not  only  as  others  see  us- 
which  IS  but  a  poor  thing  after  ail-but, 
m  some  faint  measure,  as  we  are,  in  His 
most  holy  sight. 


t;i 


TEbrottflb  tbc  vallcs  ot  Saca. 


THE  BALSAM  VALE 

Was  ever  city  in  all  this  world  loved 
like  Jerusalem?   Men  who  had  never  seen 
it  thought  of  it  as  home;  and  they  would 
enter  upon  long  and   perilous   ways,  to 
gladden  their  hearts  by  the  sight  of  it 
and  to  rekindle  their  faith  by  standing 
within  its  gates.    That  city  was  the  home 
of  their  hearts,  because  in  some  strange, 
high  sense  it  was  the  earthly  home  of 
their  God.    Once,  in    a    time  of  awful 
peril,    He    had    defended    it    with    His 
unseen  army;  and  there,  too,  when  the 
tides  of  heathenism  were  sweeping  up 
almost  to  its  walls.  He  was  worshipped 
by  later    ages   with   an    exuberant  and 
strenuous  devotion.    So  many  an  exiled 
heart  was  glad,  whe.    '     leard  the  call  to 
go  to  the  house  of  the  Lord.    From  the 
far  lands  those  pilgrims  came  to  the  hill- 
girt  city,  which  seemed  to  incarnate  for 

39 


•i  - 


40         In  tbc  Dour  ot  Sticncc 

^em  the  ancient  purpose  of  their  God. 
1  hey  came  as  sight-seers;  but  the  sight 
they  yearned  to  see  was  the  living  God  in 
Z  on.     And  oh!  the  thrill  of  it.  as.  spent 
with   the  weary  way.   they   first    caught 
sight  of  the  walls  and  pinnacles. 
My  soul  yearned,  yea  pined, 
For  the  courts  of  Jehovah. 
But  now  my  heart  and  my  flesh  send  up  a 
ringing  cry 
Unto  the  living  God— 

a  cry  which  will  surely  wake  a  glad 
response  ,n  our  own  hearts,  if  we  watch 
the  dry  and  desolate  way  by  which 
they  have  come.  For  it  is  no  light  thing 
-the  pilgnm  way.  It  leads  across  ground 
that  is  scorched  by  the  cruel  sun;  there 
alone  can  the  baca  or  balsam  tree  grow 
Yes.  the  pilgrim  way  lies  through  the  bal- 
sam vale,  whose  other  name  is  the  vale  of 

tears.  But  in  the  end  they  are  to  look 
upon  the  face  of  their  own  great  God;  and 
they  would  surely  reckon   that  all    the 

wo^thv  ";'  'k^  P""^'  °^  '^^  ^^y  ^^^^  not 
7hZ  u  ?^  ^^  coniPared  with  the  glory 
that  should  crown  it.    And  if  our  wo^hip 


TTbe  Saldam  Vale  41 

brings  us  less. of  joy  than  theirs,  it  maybe 
because  it  has  cost  us  less  of  pain.  There 
IS  no  ringing  shout,  because  there  has  been 
no  balsam  vale.  May  those  thrilling  oil- 
grim  songs  do  their  perfect  work  upon  us 
by  kindling  within  us  a  sense  of  the  glory 
and  the  joy  of  worship! 

How  the  pilgrims  envied  the  priests, 
whose  duty  was  to  remain  forever  within 
the  solemn  house  of  God!    Thrice  blessed 
—they  cry— are  they  who  dwell  in  Thy 
house,  and  sing  Thee  everlasting  praise. 
Nay -answer    the    priests  -  there    is   a 
higher  blessedness  than  that,  even  the  pil- 
grim bliss  which  is  sustained  by  continu- 
ous and  glad  surprises;  the  pilgrim  faith 
which  IS  never  allowed  to  degenerate  into 
monotony,  but  is  ever  kept  alert  by  new 
sights  and  new  victories,  as  it  marches  on 
from     hill    to    hill,    from    strength    to 
strength.    The  glory  of  God  is  revealed 
in  the  valley  even  more  than  in  the  tem- 
ple: for  He  turns  its  dry  places  into  wells 
of  living  water.    Thrice  blessed  is   the 
man— be  he  pilgrim  in  the  valley  or  priest 
in  the  temple— who  puts  his  trust  in  Thee 


I.; 
I 

IS 


42         In  tbe  ftour  of  Silence 

How  lo-ely  is  Thy  habitation,  espe- 
cially  to  men  whose  home  is  among  "the 
tents  of  ungodliness,"  for  this  is  the  dark 
background  against  which  stand  the  clear 
figures  of  the  pilgrim  band.    The  accident 
of  birth  or  circumstance  may  have  thrown 
them  there,  but  they  are    deep-hearted 
men  whom  such  company  cannot  satisfy. 
They   cannot    live  all   their  lives  there. 
1  hey  must  go  to  the  house  of  their  God 
and    hve  there,   though   but   for  a  day. 
The  inspiration  of  that  day  will  help  to 
carry  them   across  years  of  temptation 
from  the  men  who  dwell  in  the  tents  of 
wickedness.    Worship  is  to   them   more 
than    gorgeous    ceremony.    Through    it 
comes  deliverance  from  evil.    And  back 
through   the  valley   they  go  again,  not 
only  glad,  but  strong.    They  have  seen 
the  Lord. 

The  pilgrim  life  is  always  the  same. 
To-day,  as  yesterday,  the  soul  that  would 
be  true  to  all  that  is  best,  needs  the  sup- 
port of  public  worship.  Too  well  we  know 
how  powerful  are  the  assaults  that  can  be 
led  from  the  tents  of  wickedness,  and  how 


Zht  Sal0am  Vale 


43 


often  our  armour  is  pierced.    So  one  day 
in  seven,  in  company  with  other  strug- 
gling souls,  we  meet  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
the  God  of  the  daily  battle,  our  sun  and 
shield.     In  the  church  of  Christ,  within 
the  communion  of  the  saints,  pledged  as 
they  are  to  fight  the  good  fight,  our  moral 
nature  is  braced  again,  and  we  taste  once 
more  the  assurance  of  victory.    For  the 
moment,  the  church  is  home— home  of 
our  deepest  heart,  like  a  bird's  nest,  a  soft 
and  gentle  thing,  where  God's  Israel,  like 
a  mother  bird,  may  lay  down  her  young 
and  never  fear. 

Every  week  is  as  a  pilgrimage  through 
the  balsam  vale;  and  as  we  emerge  and 
behold  the  holy  day  and  the  holy  city, 
well  may  we  send  up  a  ringing  shout  of  joy. 
But  is  all  life,  too,  not  just  such  a  pilgrim- 
age? On  we  go,  from  weakness  to  weak- 
ness, or  from  strength  to  strength, 
according  as  we  care  little  or  much  for 
the  heavenly  Jerusalem.  But  whether  in 
weakness  or  in  strength,  it  is  often  through 
a  valley  of  tears.  The  deepest  hearts 
have  not  felt  like  singing  all  the  time. 


isi 


**        In  tbc  Donr  of  Silence 

Often   very  often,  it  ha.  been  the  tew- 
«a.ned  face  that  ha,  been  turned  upTn 

Zl  VT^  "'    P"!^'   «»    God.     But 
through  the  tear,  the  eye  of  faith  wH 
»menme,,ee  the  land,cape  tran,Cr"d 
and  fountain,  welling  „p  i„  ,he  b?f,am 

lhl.i    I  I  "'""^  °'  ">«    heavenly   city 

thereto  To  the  soul  that  yearn,  for  the 
unclouded  vision  of  God,  the  dan«„  a„d 
pnvafon,  of  the  earthly  pilgrim^le  till 

uLnT'T"*  '""°  "''"■"^  'hat^break 
upon  her  barren  way  a,  the  rain  from 
heaven.    Then,  when  the  way  i,  over^ 

erL'"::-||"rv  °'  "■!  ""'"«  God,  the  p  " 

war  tr'lo  "  """^  T" "''  "hich^either 
war  nor  storm  can  shatter. 

The  peace  of  all  the  faithful, 

The  calm  of  all  the  blest, 
Inviolate,  unvaried, 

Divinest,  sweetest,  best. 


«»  eine  are  mfobtier  tban  f . 


i'lii 


THE  MIGHTY  MEN 

."My   sins,"    said    the    Psalmist,    "are 
mightier  than  I,"  and  his  words  are  the 
words  of  a  man  to  whom  life  meant  bat- 
tle     Those  sins  of  his  are  hideously  real. 
Like  mighty  men,  they  beset  him  hourly 
behind  and  before,  and  he  has  to  face  and 
tight  them  as  he  values  his  life.     In  his 
most  innocent  and  unguarded  moments, 
their  cruel  faces  glare  in  upon  him.     He 
knows  them  well.    Often  and  often  they 
had  grappled  with  him  and  thrown  him- 
thrown  him  upon  his  knees;  and  there 
before  the  Hearer  of  prayer,  unto  whom' 
ail  Hesh  may  come  when  the  battle  is  sore 
he  renews  his  strength,  and   finds  that 
there  is  One  stronger  than  the  strong 
men  who  are  too  much  for  him-even  He 
who  establishes  the   mountains    by   His 
strength,  and  is  girt  about  with  might,  and 
whose  presence  means  victory  and  peace. 
Ihis  was  his  battle,  and  it  is  ours.    It 

47 


48         In  tbc  Dour  of  Silence 

is  the  awful  privilege  of  every  man  to 
fight  his  lonely  fight  against  the  mighty 
men  of  his  own  creation.    There  they  are  • 
within  us,  and  yet,  it  would  almost  seem,' 
without  us,  ringing  us  round  and  defying 
us  to  break  through  them  into  the  broad 
place  where  there  is   liberty.    They  are 
ours,  and  yet  they  strangely  seem  to  have 
taken  to  themselves  an  independent  per- 
sonality.    They  say  to  us  mockingly,  "It 
IS  thou  that  hast  made  us,  and  not  we 
ourselves  ;  yet.  after  we  have  made  them, 
they  learn  to  bind  us  and  lead  us  whither- 
soever  they  will,  unless  with  prayer  and 
courage  we  resist  them.    Every  tempta- 
tion unresisted,  every  opportunity  unem- 
braced,    has    the    mysterious    power   of 
peopling  our  world  with  enemies  who  too 
surely  go  with  us  where  we  go,  and  dwell 
with  us  where  we  dwell.    Stronger  and 
stronger  they  grow,  and  we  know  it  not 
until  one  day  they  rise  up  to  our  amaze' 
ment  and  confront  us  as  the  mighty  men 
who  are  now  too  strong  for  us.  and  who 
are  imperilling  our  soul's  salvation  and 
peace. 


ttbe  A(«bts  iBen  49 

Every  man  knows  his  own  mighty  men 
best:  pnde,  apathy,  discontent,  lult.  gr^ed 
envy.    But  not  every  man  knows  wl^^t  It' 
.s  to  wrestle  with  them.    What  a   id 
fachtymost  of  us  possess  for  ignoring  rte 

be  a  iatt/r  W  "J'  "''""  "  "^  '"«^«  '<> 

bade  us   fn      f     •  "°'  *^°""«'  ^  Christ 
bade  us,    o  enter  m   at   the  strait  gate 

sTru^rff  ;"'''^^""•"y*  ^°"'  '-n-h^ha 

Ae  w^rJ^t^  ^"''   '°[^  '=■  ^^«'"S-  'hat 
tne  world  knows  noth  ng  of.    There  i. 

many  a  fall  and  many  a  triumph  which  , 
h  dden  from  all  but  God.     But  how  much 
o  stram  .s  there  in  the  ordinary  ChriTriat 
in  aslh/'  "^"""^  ^^  °"  ^'™«8le  with 
elr  n     "T  *;!  "'^""'^  ''y  'beir  pov- 
eny?    Or  ,s  the  Christian  world  to^ay 
much  as  ,t  was  in  William  Law's  timT 
whet,  even  the  lives  of  the  better  sort  of 
t^emn     "'-1'°  ™"'^^^y  '°  'hat  strenuous 
name?    If  ,t  be  so-and  let  every  man 
judge  h,mself  as  in  the  sight  of  c'^d-ff 
we  have  not  that  perfection  which  our 


50 


f n  tbe  f)onr  ot  Silence 


present  state  of  grace  makes  us  capable 
of,"  it  is,  as  Law  says,  "because  we  do  not 
so  much  as  intend  to  have  it."  And  who 
that  has  not  the  intention,  can  call  him- 
self Christ's?  In  the  history  of  the 
church  it  has  been  the  greatest  souls  that 
have  felt  most  overwhelmingly  the  fierce- 
ness of  the  struggle  with  sin;  men  like 
Bunyan,  Augustine,  Paul.  "Oh  wretched 
man  that  I  am!"  Life  was  a  grim  thing 
for  the  man  out  of  whose  heart  that  cry 
was  wrung,  as  it  will  always  be  for  all  who 
echo  it  sincerely. 

When  the  day  is  done,  the  great  ques- 
tion for  us  all  is  not  the  amount  of  our 
work,  but  the  quality  of  our  struggle.  Were 
we  watching,  as  well  as  working?  Was  our 
soul  well  knit?  Did  we  grapple  with  the 
mighty  men?  Were  we  wounded?  Did 
we  triumph?  Or  had  we  all  the  day  no 
sense  of  battle,  and  no  longing  for  vic- 
tory? The  most  tragic  loss  that  can  befall 
any  man  in  this  world  is  the  loss  of  the 
desire  to  win.  Every  experience,  even 
the  simplest,  contains  in  it  the  elements  of 
contest  and  the  possibility  of  victory.    It 


Vbe  Atflbts  Aen 


5« 

Snf'l'''  '"'f'''^  °f  '^  ^"'l  0^  the 

either  tnumphant  or  defeated.     In  the 

^oodtu-  "  'r.''^'"'  ^'  t'-haved  like  a 
not     A„h"',  l-'^'r  ?"»'-  °'  »e  did 

We  need,  hke  the  warriors  of  old,  to 
An7/-  u\"'"'  "'"•  8'oves  of  steel. 

.  We  need  that,  and  more-even  a  con- 

selves,  that  makes  for  victory:       rather 
no.  a  power  c  -y.  but  a  PresTr.    .Over 

strong  for  h.m,  the  Psalmist  saw  Another 

bleLr  -T^"  ^'"'=    ''"'J  ■■'    «    our 

cUariv   e""'"^"  ,'°  '""  "'"•  «"'  "ore 

leader    hJ^  "'  ^T''  "''°  '^  "<"  <">!/ 
leader,  but  comrade  and   brother     He 

knew  a  sorer  fight  than  we.    He  wa   w"h 

w.ld  beasts  i„  the  wilderness,  and  fl  y 

subtler  ann  "''^'''l  *"'"'  "-"Ptations 
subtler  and  keener  than  we  can  know; 


P         In  tbe  Dour  ot  Silence 

^"5  .^®  ^®^'  His  wilderness  with  triumph 
shining  from  His  face.  Let  us,  then,  but 
bring  this  Victor  into  our  battle;  and, 
comforted  by  His  fellowship  and  strength- 
ened by  His  mighty  power,  we  may  face 
the  mightiest  men  that  can  assail  with  the 
sure  hope  of  victory. 


TBObctbct  men  Wqc  well  et  tbcc,  or 
tU»  tbon  art  not  otber  tban  tbyselt 


Ii 


•M 


i  M 


MISUNDERSTOOD 

There  is  a  loneliness  familiar  to  ail 
whose  loved  ones  have  passed  irrevocably 
to  another  world:  it  is  the  loneliness  of 
bereavement.   And  there  is  another  lone- 
liness—to  some  more  weird  and  awful— 
the  loneliness   of  being   misunderstood. 
When  we  are  judged  by  those  who  do  not 
know  us,  when  our  kindness  is  regarded 
as  the  calculation  of  policy,  when  our 
speech  or  our  silence  is  believed  to  be  the 
veil  behind  which  we  hide  our  real  opin- 
ion, when  our  motives  are  read  in  the 
light  of  malice  or  suspicion;  it  is  then 
that  the  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness. 
There  are  men  and  women  about  us,  yet 
our  world    is   desolate.     The    love    for 
which  we  had  looked  is  burnt  out  of  it  by 
the  cruel  fires  of  uncharitable  judgment. 
Life  seems  a  dreary  waste;  it  is  as  if  there 
were  no  one  left  but  ourselves  and  God. 
Yet  the  discipline  of  being  misunderstood 

55 


S*  In  tbe  l^our  of  SUence 

may  work  a  blessed  and  fruitful  work 

judgments  of  men  to  the  great  and  mer- 
ciful  heart  of  God. 

Who  has  not  looked  with  a  shock  of 

bvTri,"Ti^'.'"^'^'^  ^^  ^'»  -"Stives 
wLT  u  "^  ^'''^"'  '°  ^'^  well-meant 
words  as  they  are  scrutinized  by  the  cun- 
ning or  the  prejudice  of  another  mind. 

nrJ^Au  ^'  ^'l^^'^ns  as  they  are  inter- 
preted  by  another  who  lacks  that  love 
sympathy,  insight,  imagination  -  call  it' 
what  you  will-without  which  no  inter- 
pretation of  another  mind  or  spirit  is  pos- 

Fnr   .k    %   '^"'  ^"^  ^^  ^°*^^s  ^»th  pain. 
For   the    figure  with  which   he  is  con- 

wh  ch  should  have  revealed  him  to  him- 
self  he  knows  m  his  heart  to  be  a  travesty 
-false  where  it  is  not  cruel.  Like  a  bad 
mirror,  it  has  distorted  the  image  it  was 
meant  to  reflect. 

When  will  men  learn  that  no  act  and 
no  word  no!  nor  a  million  acts  or  words 
can  exhaustively  represent  the  spirit 
whose  expression  they  are?    Beneath  and 


AlennDeretooD  5; 

behind  all  the  manifold  activities  through 
which  the  world  learns  to  know  us  and 
we  learn  to  know  ourselves,  is  that  infinite 
spirit  of  ours,  which,  just  because  it  is 
infinite  and  because  it  is  spirit,  can  never 
adequately  express  itself  in  material  form. 
It  cannot  make  to  itself  any  graven  image 
which  will  do  it  justice.    And  therein  lies 
the  shame,  the  atrocity  of  unconsidered 
and  unsympathetic  judgment.    Who  can 
enter    into    the    counsels    of    another? 
Ihere  is  so  much  that  we  feel  and  must 
leave  unsaid;  so  much  that  we  divine,  but 
have  no  skill  to  utter.    There  is  no  act 
mto  which  we  can  pour  all  our  character, 
no  deed  which  suggests  to  an  outsider  the 
infinite  complexity  of  motive  and  circum- 
stance which  determined  it.    Every  per- 
sonality is  like  a  vast  harborless  island. 
It  IS  difficult  to  effect  a  landing  upon  it; 
and  when  at  any  point  you  land,  you  have 
done  no  more  than  land;  the  ground  has  . 
all  to  be  traversed  and  explored.    Shall 
anyone  then  harshly  judge  the  intricacies 
of  another  mind  or  character,  when  he 
does  not  fully  understand  his  own? 


H         f  n  tbe  feonv  of  Sdcnce 

Other  men  do  not  know  the  limitations 
under  which  we  work.    Restrictions  have 
been  imposed  upon  us,  or  we  may  have 
imposed  them  upon  ourselves.   The  world 
does  not  know  of  them;  yet  its  ignorance 
does  not  deter  it  from  expressing  a  judg- 
ment which  may  bring  a  flush  of  indigna- 
tion or  a  smile  of  pain  across  the  face  of 
the  man  whom  its  judgment  has  wronged, 
tf* ",!,  f ""^  may  be,  but  indignation  there 
should  be  none,  if  only  we  have  learned  to 
commit  our  w^y  unto  the  Lord.    However 
high  may  be  the  seat  of  those  who  judge 
us,  there  is  One  that  is  higher  than  they. 
Much  of  the  pain  that  is  caused  by 
misunderstanding  might  be    avoided    if 
men  were  more  generous  in  their  appreci- 
ation of  each  other's  standpoints.    The 
man  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  need  have  no 
quarrel  with  the  man  who  has  reached  its 
summit.    It  is  for  each  to  enjoy,  without 
envy  or  recrimination,  as  much  of  the 
landscape  as  he  can.    There  is  one  glory 
of  the  mountain  and  another  of  the  val- 
ley; and  let  me  not  denounce  the  wider 
vision  of  another,  till-perhaps  with  toil 


and  pain-I,  too,  hav  .  climbed  the  steeps 
and  taken  my  place  beside  him.    Then 
perhaps    with  his  vista  before  me,   my 
mood  will  changre;  and  if  not,  I  shall  at 
least  know  him  to  be  my  brother. 

Hardly  a  month  passes  without  bring- 
ing some  reminder  of  the  sheer  impossi- 
bility of  judging   another   fairly.     How 
often,  for  example,  do  we  find  a  man's 
generosity  measured  by  the  amount  of  his 
subscription   to    charitable    causes!    But 
who  knows  what  another  may  have  given 
whose  name  appears  in  no  subscription- 
list,  but  whose  gift  is  written  in  the  books 
of  heaven?    There  is  more  in  even  the 
least  complicated  character  than  we  have 
eyes  to  see.    Perhaps  it  is  a  child  whom 
his  father  thought  wild  and  headstrong. 
He  sees  in  him  little  of  the  tenderness  of 
other  children,  and  it  is  hard  to  win  from 
him  any  proof  of  affection.    Then   his 
mother  dies.    And  one  day,  long  after, 
when  he  thinks  he  is  alone,  his  father 
comes  upon  him  on  bended  knee,  sobbing 
before  his  mother's    portrait.    Ah!    the 
father  misread  his  boy;  the  mother  whom 


^         In  tbc  Dour  of  Silence 

he  has  lost  knew  him  better.  In  times 
when  your  heart  was  sore,  have  you  never 
been  comforted  with  the  comfort  of  a 
glad  surprise?  Some  one  whom  you  had 
thought  to  be  rough  and  careless  looked 
into  your  eyes  with  a  silent,  piercing  sym- 
pathy, took  your  hand  with  a  grip  that 
revived  your  faith  and  hope,  or  with  his 
own  rough  hand  laid  a  flower  upon  the 
grave. 

There  are  two  consolations  of  which 
the    victim    of   misunderstanding    need 
never  suffer  himself  to  be  robbed;   his 
honour  and  his  God.    Opinion  changes 
the  world  passes.    But  God  abides;  He 
never  faileth.    And  again,  no  pressure  of 
misunderstand-ng  can  essentially  affect  the 
facts  of  our  case.    We  are  what  we  are 
not  what  we  are  said  to  be;  and  whatever 
others  may  say,  he  that  was  worthy  will 
be  worthy  still.    In  the  words  of  one  who 
knew  the  human  heart  as  few  have  known 
It:    Let  not  thy  peace  depend  upon  the 
tongues  of  men;  for  whether  they  judge 
well  of  thee,  or  ill.  thou  art  not  on  that 
account  other  than  thyself." 


Bntcr  into  tbp   •)aml)er  and  sbut  tb» 


boon 


WITHIN  CLOSED  DOORS 

When  Christ  told  His  disciples  to  enter 
into  their  inner  chamber  and  shut  the 
door,  He  was  not  so  much  urging  them  to 
a  virtue  as  warning 'them  against  a  vice— 
against  the  vice  of  hypocrisy  in  the  deep 
things  of  religion.    The  religion  of  that 
day  was  fond  of  parading  itself   in  the 
synagogues  and  on  the  streets:  and  where 
two  or  three  are  gathered  together,  there 
is  always  the  temptation   to   hypocrisy. 
The  presence  of  other  men  is  a  danger  as 
well  as  an  inspiration;  and  if  we  would 
know  what  manner  of  religious  men  we 
are,  we  have  but  to  ask  ourselves  how 
much  and  how  often  we  care  to  be  in  the 
inner  chamber,  when   the  door  is  shut. 
So  far  from  courting  the  public  gaze,  we 
must  enter  upon  the  offices  of  devotion- 
Christ  seems  to  say— almost  as  if  we  were 
doing  a  guilty  thing,  and  afraid  lest  some 
one  see  and  speak  of  us. 

63 


^         In  tbc  t)our  of  Silence 

The  temptation  to  hypocrisy,  at  least 
in  Its  grosser  forms,  vanishes  within  the 
closed    doors    of    the    inner    chamber. 
1  here  we  can  afford  to  be  fair  with  our- 
selves: and  there  we  can  hold  sweet  con- 
verse with  the   Father.    But  note:    the 
door  must  be  shut.    There  is  something 
very  touching  in  that  earnest  word  of 
Christ :     Enter  into  thine  inner  chamber, 
and  having  shut  thy  door,  pray."    As  well 
not   pray  at  all  as  pray  with  the  door 
open;  for  the  noises  of  the  world  will 
enter  m  and  drown  the  music   of   the 
father's  voice,  and  we  need  to  be  where 
we  can  hear  nothing  but  the  silence  and 
the  beating  of  the  Eternal  Heart.   It  is  in 
moments  like  these-when  other  interests 
stand  without,  knocking  it  may  be,  but 
unanswered,  and  when  the  servant  kneels 
in  the  presence  of  his  Lord-it  is  then 
that  he  grasps  the  great  realities,  and 
convinces  himself  again  of  what,  when  he 
opens  the  door  and  crosses  the  threshold, 
he  so  easily  forgets-that  the  things  which 
are  seen   are  temporal,  and   the  things 
which  are  not  seen  are  eternal. 


Mitbin  Closed  Woovb  65 

We  hear  to-day  that  the  middle  wall 
of  partition  between  the  sacred  and  the 
secular  has  been  broken  down,  that  all  is 
sacred  to  the  man  of  consecrated  vision. 
That  may  be  so:  that  is  so.    Yet  there  is 
an  inner  chamber  and  a  world  outside- 
and  there  are  times  when  we  must  leave 
the  one  and  enter  the  other,  and  deliber- 
ately  shut  the  door.    For  we  need  to  see 
the  i^ather,and  tell  Him  how  we  fared  by 
the  way,  and  where  we  fell  and  how  sorry 
we  were.  ^ 

,  We  must  see  Him  alone,  and  we  must 
give  others,  too,  the  chance  of  seeing 
Him  alone.  It  is  nothing  less  than  cruel 
to  follow  one  into  his  retreat,  when  he 

mlt'r      '^^°^'-    H°^  often,  out  of  a 
mistaken  affection,  do  we  rob  our  dear 

Zh.  TK^  ''"'^'  f  °"^""'^  '^^y  «o  sorely 
S    ^v.  "?«Poken  tragedy  of  many  a 

their  fellowship  upon  her  in  the  brief 
moments  all  too  few,  when  she  seeks 
to  rest  her  fretted  heart  in  soothing 
thoughts  of  God  and  His  eternity  ^ 

In  the  struggle  without,  we  lose  our- 


66 


fit  tbe  Donr  or  Silence 


selves:    in  the  inner    chamber  we  find 
ourselves  again,  and  in  its  helpful  silence 
we  brace  ourselves  for  the  warfare  which 
too  surely  awaits  us  when  we  leave.    For 
leave  we  must.    We  all  sustain  relations 
to  our  fellows;  it  is  in  a  world  of  living 
men  and  women  that  our  work  has  to  be 
done.    It  was  indeed  one  of  the  saintliest 
of  men  who  said  that  the  greatest  saints 
were    wont    to    avoid    human    converse 
where  they  could.    We  would   not  say 
that  to-day.    We  cannot  forget  that  the 
greatest  Saint  of  all  went  about  among 
men  continually.    But  though  the  cloister 
cannot  be  the  whole  of  life,  it  must  still 
be  part  of  it.    On  the  eve  of  any  great 
crisis,  the  Gospels  always  reveal  Christ  in 
some  desert  place  apart.    As   one    has 
said,  He  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  like 
some  runner  about  to  take  a  great  leap. 
Yet  we  often  take  our  most  daring  leaps 
in  life  without    stepping  back,    without 
even  looking  up  or  across  or  to  anything 
but  our  feet. 

Not  only  when  we  are    tempted    to 
make  our  religion  a  pretence  by  dragging 


mttbin  CI08e^  Doors  67 

it  into  the  glare  of  publicity,  but  in  some 
moment  every  day,  either  when  its  work 
IS  done  or  as  the  spirit  moves  us,  let  the 
words    of  Christ  come    back    upon    us: 
tnter  mto  thme  mner  chamber  and  hav- 
ing shut  the  door,  pray."     Let  us  close  it 
resolutely  in  the  face  of  all  that  makes 
prayer  impossible-the  passions,  the  ambi- 
tions, the  affections,  the  interests  which 
would  contend  for  the  place  of  honour  on 
the    right  hand  and  on  the  left  of  the 
God  who  sits  throned  within.    For  if  we 
do  not  close  the  door,  and  learn  to  be 
familiar  with  our  deeper  selves  and  with 
the  God  who  besets  us  behind  and  before, 
we  shall  find  that  we  are  closing  upon 
ourselves  slowly,  but  surely,  another  door, 
even  the  door  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
When  the  Bridegroom  comes,  and  they 
that  are  ready  go  in  with  Him  to  the  mar- 
riage, we  may  find  that  for  us  the  door  is 
shut. 


an  ancbor  of  tbc  soni,  botb  ante  anb 
stcabfast. 


S 


THE  ANCHOR  WITHIN  THE  VEIL 

As    you    journey    across    the    often 
troubled  and  always  treacherous  sea  of 
life,  has  it  never  happened  to  you   to 
doubt  whether  it  be  not  a  shoreless  sea, 
which   will   one  day  cruelly  devour  you 
and  yours,  and  leave  not  a  trace  behind? 
Has  it  never  happened  to  you  to  grow 
weary  and  doubtful,  as  you  strained  your 
eyes  towards  some  coast  land  which  never 
rose,  not  even  in  shadowy  outline,  out  of 
the  waters,  to  bless  your  waiting  heart? 
Has  it  never  seemed  as  if  your  life  would 
drift  and  drift,  but  never  into  the  haven 
where  it  would  be?    You  lifted  up  your 
eyes  for  the  welcome  summit  of  a  distant 
hill,  but  they  rested  only  on  towering  bil- 
lows.   You  would  fain  cast  anchor,  and 
feel  sure;  but  the  bottom  is  beyond  your 
sounding. 

It  is  this  lack  of  sureness  and  satisfac- 
tion about  earthly  things  that  constitutes 
the   opportunity  of  the    religious    man. 

71 


f         f  B  tb«  ttont  of  Silence 

^Z^^^"  "5'  ^  »  ""'""«  '"•"l  «<>n.e. 

«ee  It?  May  he  not  even  feel  very  .ure 
that  there  i,  such  a  land,  and  seeVta! 
agmanon  the  wondrou,  light    upon    i„ 

which  he°"„n'  1^°'"  ""=  ••"«"  *'«•"■" 
Which    he    will    have  rest   forevermore? 

He  may.    For  all  good  men  who  trust  in 

Christ  have  an  anchor  both  sure    and 

sor^    K-  "•"''i''  "'''"'■■"  '■"   "•e  wildest 
storm    but  It  IS  an  anchor  fixed  in  the 

.revei^^""'', "'"''""«  '■""•  "««  *'«hin 

nf  iv'''!^'"  "^""  P*""*"  °f  the  voyage 
of  life,  that  there  is  no  land  in  which  oSr 
anchor  may  grip,  unless  to  the  man  who 
believes  m  it.  The  anchor  is  an  anclor 
t,Z'rf  "■"=  '""^  "  -'"in  the  ven 

wrW,  H  '^'"  °''."  ™"»P''"  i-  the 
writers  desire  to   interpret  the  strange 

power  of  hope  to  give  reality  to^he 
unseen  A  divine  dissatisfaction  ui^es  us 
on  to  lay  brave  hands  upon  the  future! 

fmll""^  "i"^*"""'  ^'^  finished  work 
mtothe  broken  and  disheartened  present 
Here  we  are  in  the  earthly  forecourts 


)t 


TO<  ancboc  witbtn  tbt  Vetl      73 

not  far  away-only  a  step  for  some  of  us 
-IS  the  heavenly  sanctuary.  But  there  is 
a  veil  between,  through  which  only  Christ 
and   hope   have   penetrated.     Not    the 

that  lies  behind  the  veil.     No  m...  l.J 
seen  it  at  any  time.    He  coind  not  s 
and  hve.    He  cannot  see  it  tiH  fu   df 
And  yet  to  the  eye  of  hope  it  is  a^  real  as 
any  of  the  earthly  sights    whic  L  brlnr 
tears.    It  is  more  real  than  thev.    /•  or  :f  W, 
eternal,  and  they  are  only  for  a  little  while 
Within  the  veil  stands  One  we  I     -    a 
Brother,  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our 
infirmities,  because  tempted  and  tried  like 
as  we;  a  Brother  who  is  also  an  high 
priest,  making  intercession  for  us  contin- 
ually.    He  entered  as  Forerunner,  and 
we,  whom  He  is  not  ashamed  to  call  His 
brethren,  are  pledged  to  run  after,  as  He 
has  run  before,  drawing  us  with  cords  of 
love;  and  we  too  like  Him  shall  surely 
enter  in  when  the  Lord  shall  call  us. 

Nay,  but  are  we  not  already  entered 
m?  For  the  bold  hand  of  hope  can  rend 
the  veil,  and  let  the  quiet  splendour  of 


ti 


74         In  tbc  Dour  of  Silence 

the  world  beyond  fall  upon  the  life  that 
now  IS,  and  gild  it  with  the  glories  of  eter- 
nity. "Hope,"  in  the  beautiful  words  of 
an  old  Greek  father,  "entereth  within  the 
heavens,  and  maketh  us  already  to  dwell 
among  the  things  that  are  promised,  even 
while  we  are  yet  here  below,  and  have 
not  yet  attained.  So  mighty  is  her  power 
that  she  turns  dwellers  on  the  earth  into 
dwellers  in  the  heavens." 

There  is  a  power  which  can  give  sub- 
stance to  things  hoped  for.  and  this  power 
receives  its  highest  confirmation  in  the 
sight  of  the  risen  Christ,  who  entered  into 
the  holiest  through  a  new  and  living  way 
With  the  Easter  light  in  our  eyes,  and 
the  Easter  hope  in  our  hearts,  faith  all 
but  melts  into  sight,  and  even  on  earth 
we  may  already  have  a  foretaste  of  the 
py  of  being  with  our  Forerunner  in  our 
Father's  house.    Why  then  stand  trem- 
bling and  despondent  in  the  outer  courts, 
when  the  hope  that  is  ours  through  Christ 
may  carry  us  within  the  veil? 

Come  in,  thou  blessed  of  the  Lord, 
wherefore  standest  thou  without? 


5C8US  atooD  upon  tbc  aborc. 


THE  VOICE  FROM  THE  SHORE 

One  day,  after  the  sun  had  set,  seven 
fishermen  pushed  out  from    the   shore 
Look  at  them  well,  for  no  common  men 
are  they:  Peter  the    bold,  Thomas  the 
questioner   Nathanael  the  guileless,  two 
sons  of   thunder,  and    two   others-apt 
types  of  the   varied   gifts   and    powers 
through  which  the  kingdom  is  to'com^ 
The  history  of  the  world  is  hanging  upon 
what  these    men    will    do.     They   have 
companied  with  Jesus.    They  have  seen 
visions;  they  are  dreaming  dreams.    But 
as  yet  they  are  only  fishermen;  for  their 
hour  is  not  yet  come. 

All  that  night  they  catch  nothing. 
The  mght  mdts  into;  the  early  morning, 
and  then,  in  the  solemn  break  of  dawn 
Jesus  stood  upon  the  shore.  In  upon 
their  failure  came  this  heavenly  presence, 
and  stood  where  they  could  all  see  Him 


78 


in  tbe  Dour  of  Silence 


--for  they  were  near  the  shore—and  their 
faces  might,  we  think,  have  lit  with  joy 
as  they  forgot  their  fish,  and  steered  to 
where  the  Master  stood.  But  no'  The 
disciples  knew  not  that  it  was  Jesus. 
Was  He,  then,  so  changed?  If  changed, 
He  was  at  any  rate,  not  arrayed  in  robes 
of  dazzling  glory;  for  they  mistook  Him 
for  a  common  man,  anxious  to  buy  their 
hsh.  He  comes  to  His  weary  disciples  as 
a  man  and  a  brother,  and  they  know  Him 
not.    It  disappoints,  it  vexes  us. 

"Children,"  or  "lads,"  He  says,  "have 
ye  caught  anything?"-for  that  is  the 
meaning  of  His  words;  and  sadly  enough 
they  answer,  "No";  not  "No,  Master,"  or 
No,  Lord  ;  for  they  do  not  yet  know 
that  It  IS  the  Lord.  They  had  toiled  all 
the  sleepless  night,  and  had  caught  noth- 
ing, not  even  a  glimpse  of  the  real  import 
of  this  Stranger  upon  the  shore.  "Cast 
your  nets,  then,"  said  the  Stranger,  "to 

fi  !i  "^^i  "'"^^  °/  *^^  ^h»P'  and  ye  shall 
hnd.  They  obeyed;  they  cast,  and 
caught  more  fish  than  they  could  drag  in 
the  net.    Then  it  flashed  upon  John  who 


ttbc  Voice  from  tbc  Sborc       79 

the  Stranger  was.    Was  it  that  he  de- 
tected the  old  note  of  authority?    Or  did 
he  catch  some  echoes  of  those  tones  he 
had  never  hoped  to  hear  on  earth  again? 
However  it  was.  half  under  his  breath, 
and  with  a  rush  of  solemn  joy,  he  said.  "It 
IS  the  Lord."    Peter  has  not  the  clear 
insight  of  John.    To  him  the  good  news 
IS  as  yet  but  hearsay.      But  he  can  trust 
John  s  word  and  act  upon  it.    So.  when 
he  heard  x\i^x  it  was  the  Lord,  he  girt  on 
his  coat,  and  making  up  in  energy  what 
he  lacked  in  insight,  he  swiftly  cast  him- 
self into  the  sea.    The  others  turned  the 
boats  head  toward  Jesus,  and  with  less 
precipitation,  but  not  less  gladness,  came 
slowly  on.  dragging  their  net  of  fishes. 

How  weird    is  this  scene,  as  it   lies  ! 
before  us  in  the  grey  light  of  the  early  • 
morning!    There  is  Jesus  standing  on  the  i 
shore;  there  is  a  man  who  has  plunged 
into  the  cold  water,  if  by  any  means  he 
may  hear  Him  first;  and  there  are  other 
SIX,    slowly    making    their    way    toward) 
Him     And  how  deep  is  this  scene  in  its 
symbohc  truth!    These  men  in  that  boat  \ 


8o 


In  tbe  l^ouc  ot  Silence 


are  but  a  prophecy  of  all  deep-hearted, 
earnest  men.  As  soon  as  they  see  that 
simple,  quiet,  gracjaus  figure  on  the  shore, 
they  turn  towards  It,  and  some  with  a 
plunge,  and  others  dragging  their  net,  find 
their  way  to  Jesus. 

Nor   can  any  such  be   disappointed. 
He  anticipates  the  needs  of  all  who  come 
to  Him.    Those  sleepy,  hungry  men  see 
a  fire  of  coal,  and  fish  laid  thereon,  and 
bread.    Then  comes  His  gracious  invita- 
tion: "Come  and  break  your  fast."    Ah! 
the  disciples  know  that  this  is  no  common 
stranger.    Those  are  tones  both  of  love 
and  authority.    The  hands  that  distribute 
the  bread  and  fish  are  wounded  hands. 
And  none  of  the  disciples  durst  ask  Him: 
Who  art  Thou?    They  are  sure  of  Him 
now.    They  know    His    way.    There   is 
none  like  Him.    They  knew  that  it  was 
the  Lord. 

Oh!  the  pathos  of  the  lives  that  fail, 
prefigured  by  those  toiling  men  upon  the 
lake.  Out  upon  a  troubled  sea,  working,  it 
may  be,  deep  into  the  night,  even  into 
the  grey  dawn,  toiling  long  and  catching 


tbe  Voice  from  tbe  Sborc       8i 

nothing— such  are  some  of  us.  And  when 
in  some  quiet  mood  in  the  late  night,  or 
the  early  morning,  a  voice  comes  sounding 
across  the  waves,  "Have  ye  any  meat? 
.   .TxT  ^M  ^^"^^'  anything?"  all  we  can  say 
IS    No."    Our  souls  are  weary  and  hun- 
gry, and  we  have  nothing  to  eat.    Now 
why  should  this  be  so,  when  all  the  time 
there  is  One  standing  upon  the  shore, 
longing  to  tell  us  where  to  cast  our  nets? 
We  think  we  know  well  enough  how  to 
look  after  those  nets  of   ours,  yet   we 
catch   nothing,  because  we  do  not  have 
a  glimpse  of  that  blessed  Presence  watch- 
ing patiently,  not  very  far  away,  to  attract 
our  foolish  eyes.    It  is  this  that  makes  the 
difference  between  life   and    life.     One 
man  sees  Jesus,  another  sees  Him  not. 
Not  to  see  Him  is  to  fail,  to  toil  for  years 
and  catch  nothing.    To  see  Him   is  to 
triumph. 

Notice,  too,  to  what  manner  of  men 
He  comes.  These  men  were  doing  the 
humble  work  of  fishermen,  when  they  were 
spoken  to  by  that  dear  voice  from  the 
shore.    Jesus  will  come  and  speak  to  any 


83 


In  tbe  l^our  ot  Stience 


man,  whatever  his  calling,  so  be  that  he 
is  not  afraid,  if  need  be,  of  working  long 
amid  darkness  and  loneliness  and  storms. 
And  He  came  to  those  men  just  when  they 
had  failed.  They  had  toiled  all  the  night, 
and  had  caught  nothing.  Then,  when  in 
the  morning  light  their  failure  was  plain, 
it  was  then  that  Jesus  stood  suddenly 
upon  the  shore.  They  did  not  know  it; 
but  that  was  their  fault,  not  His.  He 
was  there,  if  they  had  seen  Him.  So  for 
all  the  sons  of  disappointment,  if  their 
work  has  but  been  brave,  Jesus  has  His 
word  of  cheer.  Let  us  listen,  when  He 
says  "cast";  let  us  cast  where  He  bids  us; 
and  then,  when  our  net  is  full  to  break- 
ing, we  will  know  with  John,  that  this  can 
be  none  other  than  the  Lord.  We  will 
turn  our  boat's  head  toward  Him,  and 
make  for  the  steady  shore  where  He  is 
standing.  By  His  fire  we  may  warm  our- 
selves again;  round  His  table  we  may 
break  our  fast.  Is  it  for  love  that  we 
hunger,  or  righteousness  or  godlikeness, 
or  heavenly  fellowship?  "Come  hither," 
He  says,  "to  me,  and  break  your  fast." 


Vbe  Voice  from  tbe  Sbore       83 

Jesus  is  now  ascended  above  the  heav- 
ens, and  to-day  He  calls  from  another 
shore  to  men  who  are  tossing  and  weary 
and  hungering  after  immortality.  If  we 
but  turn  and  make  our  lives  set  toward 
Him,  we  shall  assuredly  one  day  reach 
Him,  and  stand  with  Him  upon  that  eter- 
nal shore.  He  will  gather  us  round  His 
hospitable  table;  He  will  feed  and  refresh 
us,  and  our  cup  will  run  over. 


TObcn  vt  set  tb<9e  tbfnos,  be  snre 
tbat  Ibe  is  near. 


MKROCOPV  RiSOWTION  TtST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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BT  1653  East  Main  SIrMt 

^S  Roch«t«r,  N«w  York        14609       USA 

B  (716)  482  -  0300  -  Phont 

88  (716)  288  -  S989  -  Fa< 


THE  SUMMER  IS  NIGH 


The  air  is  trembling  with  the  prophecy 
of  summer.  Any  day  you  may  see  the  buds 
burst;  you  may  almost  watch  them  grow 
from  hour  to  hour.  Hope  and  joy  and 
dawning  life  are  everywhere  around, 
heralds  of  a  better  day  to  be.  Winter  has 
changed  to  spring,  and  spring,  we  know, 
will  change  to  summer.  We  know:  be- 
cause we  have  faith  in  the  march  of  the 
seasons,  in  the  reliability  of  the  natural 
order  established  by  God.  While  the 
earth  remaineth,  seedtime  and  harvest, 
summer  and  winter,  shall  not  cease. 

Now  the  writers  of  the  Bible  loved  the 
fair  world  which  their  God  had  made, 
and  in  which  He  had  set  them.  They 
saw  deep  into  the  glory  of  the  heavens 
above  and  the  earth  beneath.  Their 
hearts  thrilled  in  glad  response  to  the 
changing    majesty  of  the  seasons.    But 

87 


II 


88 


In  tbc  Dour  of  Silence 


almost  more  than  by  their  loveliness  they 
were  smitten  by  their  inexorableness.   To 
us  the  melting  of  spring  into   summer 
bnngs  thoughts  of   hope;    to    them,  to 
many  of  them,  it  bore  a  message  of  stern- 
ness, and  most  of  all  to  Christ.    Our  poor 
hearts  need  all  the  gladness  that  summer 
thoughts  can  pour  into  them.     "Light 
again,  leaf  again,  life  again,  love  again." 
For     "summer    is    coming."      But    far 
other  were  the  thoughts  of  our  Lord, 
as  He  looked  upon  the  fig  tree  in  the 
glad  springtime.     "When  her  branch  is 
now  become  tender,  and   putteth  forth 
Its  leaves,  ye  know  that  the  summer  is 
nigh."      But    that    was   not    all.      That 
gracious  image  was  but  a  parable  of  the 
moral  order,  whose  sternness  rang  the 
knell    of    that    sinful   generation.    For 
doom   follows  sin  as  surely  as  summer 
spring.   The  bursting  of  the  bud  was  pro- 
phetic of  the  rich  glory  of  summer;  to 
look  upon  the  one  was  to  be  sure  of  the 
other,  yet  all  unseen.    ''Even  so  ye  also, 
when  ye  see  .these  things  coming  to  pass! 
know  that  He  is  nigh,  even  at  the  doors." 


TCbe  Summer  ts  ntgb  89 

"He"  or  "it,"  as  the  margin  of  the  Revised 
Version  has  it.    Which  is  the  more  terri- 
ble?  — that    awful    doom,    which    would 
swiftly    and    surely    crash    about    those 
wicked  heads,  unmask  their  hypocrisies 
and  lay  their  false  glory  in  the  dust;  or 
the  Son  of  Man  Himself,  now  come  in 
judgment,   His  gracious   face   turned   in 
sternness  on  the  men  His  love  had  failed 
to  win?    Either  way,  the  spring  air  was 
laden  with  a  bitter  doom,  which  would 
burst  in  judgments  of  thunder  from  the 
summer  heaven. 

That  was  a  message  for  a  crisis  in  the 
national  career.    It  wakes  into  life  again 
with  the  birth  of  every  leaf;  and  it  should 
move  us  all  to  sober  thought  in  view  of 
the  summer  that  is  coming.    Signs  there 
are,  plain  enough  for  the  most  unlettered 
to  read.   Much  of  our  political  life  is  false 
and    foul;   our  vision  of  the  unseen  is 
blurred  by  the  lust  of  the  eyes;  our  reli- 
gion   is  a  compromise  with  the  world. 
There  are  men  in  the  market  and  on  the 
exchange,  who  are  daily  selling  their  souls 
for  gold;  there  are  youths  who  are  nightly 


90 


In  tbc  Dour  of  Stiencc 


imperilling,  if  not  ruining,  their  fair  name 
in  the  saloon  and  the  theatre;  there  are 
matrons  whose  only  care  is  to  hear  and 
see  some    new  thing   and  to  have  their 
names    in     the     public    print,    however 
insipid  be  the  company;  there  are  maid- 
ens whose  only  anxiety  is  for  the  body, 
what  they  shall  put  on.    And  the  Son  of 
Man  is  coming,  surely  as  the  summer,  and 
"when  ye  see  these  things  coming  to  pass, 
know  ye  that   He  is  nigh,  even  at   the 
doors."    We  know  not  the  day  nor  the 
hour;  we  know  only  that  He  is  nigh,  even 
at  the  doors,  and  that  He  will  soon  be 
upon  us  in  some  great  opportunity,  which 
will  be  our  ruin  if  it  be  not  our  salvation. 
And  if  we  do  not,  every  man  of  us,  cleanse 
the  hands  with  which  we  ply  our  trade 
and    commerce,   and  purify    the    hearts 
which  we  lift  in  worship  to  God,  He  may, 
indeed,  let  us  alone  a  litde  while,  for  He 
is  very  merciful,  but  at  the  last  He  will 
cut  us  down,  doing  unto  us  as  He  has 
done  unto  others,  both  in  ancient  and  mod- 
ern days. 

The  summer  is  coming.   What  manner 


TCbc  Summer  Is  fUflb  91 

of  summer  shall  it  be?    A  summer   in 
which  the  sun  shall  blaze  fiercely  down, 
and  dry  up  the  happy,  roaring,  torrent 
beds,  and  leave  our  land  a  withered  and 
desolate    abomination?     Or    a    summer 
whose  sun  shall  bless  all  life  of  plant  or 
animal    or    man    on    which    his'  genial 
warmth  falls?    The  Son  of  Man  is  com- 
ing; shall  He  find  faith  upon  the  earth? 
Earnest  workmen,  generous    employers, 
honest  tradesmen,  honorable  politicians, 
incorruptible  electors,  truth-loving  teach- 
ers, fearless  preachers,  upright  adminis- 
trators?   When  He  comes,  as  come  He 
will,  may  He  find  us  ready  and  undis- 
mayed! 


Wben  Ao8e«  came  Oown  from  rh» 
mount,  tbe  skin  of  bis  tacHbolir 


THE  SHINING  FACE 

then  that  God  seeks  to  restore  our  soul 
by  bnngmg  us  into  the  presence  of  the 
unsulhed  g^ries  of  His  creation,  and  by 
sp  eadmg  H.s   rich  and  beautiful  table 

thljJi  "''  ^""^  ^^^  °^f^"  ^°  ^e  rise  but 
thankless  guests-nay,  forgetful  that  we 

ITa^T  ^"^'''  ^'  ^"^    Small  wonder 

never  visited  by  thoughts  of  other-world- 
Iiness.    The  city  is  the  scene  of  strife  and 
competition.    There  are  no  broad  fields 
of  green,  no  wide  expanse  of  blue  above 
us,  to  remind  us  of  the  great  primaJ  sanc- 
tities, and  to  rebuke  the  folly  of  our  ha»te 
and  our  often  too  unseemly  warfare.    Bur 
can  a  man  be  mean  in  the  presence  of  the 
mountains?    Can  he  retain  his  sordidness 
and  worldlmess  when  he  is  standing  upon 
holy  ground?    Apparently  he  can     Toe 

95 


96         In  tbe  Ibottc  of  Silence 

many  can.  They  return  from  their 
sojourn  amid  Gcd's  beautiful  and  stately 
thingL,  refreshed  indeed  in  body,  but  not 
purified  in  purpose,  nor  rekindled  to 
nobler  hopes  and  aspirations. 

And  why?  Because  they  have  no  sense 
of  a  Presence— the  presence  that  haunts 
those  things  and  moves  about  those 
scenes,  as  once  He  walked  in  a  garden, 
and  that  speaks  home  to  the  hearts  of 
men,  as  once  He  uttered  a  word  which 
reached  a  man's  heart  and  made  him  pause 
and  pray.  To  be  so  near  God,  as  many  of 
us  shall  soon  be,  breathing  His  fragrant 
air,  walking  upon  His  mountains,  sailing 
upon  His  lakes — to  be  so  near  Him, and  yet 
to  miss  Him,  is  it  not  passing  sad?  "What 
is  seen  hath  not  been  made  out  of  things 
which  do  appear."  But  men  learn  that 
"by  faith,"  that  divine  intuition  which 
finds  God  everywhere  and  sees  His 
angels  in  the  flaming  fire  and  the  stormy 
winds. 

Now  the  soul  needs  bracing  as  well  as 
the  body;  and  if  she  is  to  come  back  pre- 
pared to  face  the  unknown  conflict,  to 


«be  Sbinina  f  we  „ 

routine  of  everv  Hav  fk«~  !"••••» 

have  her  co:r,^^'"':,h-r7„d 

.trin'Thr  '""=!■,  commune  wilh  H.^' 
than  in  the  great  silences  into  which  He 
shal  guide  us,  and  in  which  He  will  birss 

that  when  he  came  down  from  the  mount 
on  which  he  had  met  and  listened  ,o 
God  the  skin  of  his  face  shone.  He  d  d 
not  know  it,  but  the  people  did.    The  e 

"me  down  T""*""*  "•"  ■"""  "ho  has 
-ome  down  from  a  so purn  with  God  on 

the  mountain.    The  mountain  alone  couU 

Tit  "■,  *'^«-'"Y'""8  ^  'hat  is.    Many 
a  man  will  come  home  this  summer  whose 

eyes  :;    T'  '^t  '"T  •>""»  ^■""«'  "hoe 
eyes  will  have  their  old  calculating  look- 

tnat  he  had  been  on  the  mountains.  He 
has  been  i„  the  palace  of  the  King  but 
he  has  not  seen  the  King  Himself.  He 
does  not  know  the  Lord  of  ,\.J  i 
The  hining  face  which  willltttttrn 
the  thoughtless  gaze  of  the  world  the 
qu.eter   step,  the  chastened  smHe    can 


98 


In  tbe  Dour  ot  Silence 


only  be  his  who  has  tarried  for  a  while 
with  his  God  upon  the  mountain. 

It  was  on  another  mountain  that  Jesus 
was  transfigured,  "and  his  garments 
became  glistering  exceeding  white,  so  as 
no  fuller  on  earth  can  white  them;"  and 
when  He  came  down  He  cast  out  devils. 
And  for  us,  too,  there  will  be  devils 
enough  to  cast  out,  when  we  come  down 
and  back  to  the  temptations  with  which 
every  walk  in  life  is  too  thickly  strewn. 
But  they  are  to  be  cast  out  only  by  the 
man  who  has  been  transfigured  on  the 
mountain  top,  and  who  has  spoken  with 
Moses  and  Elijah,  and,  above  all,  with 
his  Lord.  Let  the  majesty  of  the  moun- 
tains and  the  melancholy  of  the  sea  lift 
up  our  hearts  to  Him  who  is  Lord  of  them 
and  of  us.  They  are  but  the  outer  courts 
whence  the  reverent  soul  passes  into  the 
presence  of  the  Eternal.  How  much, 
how  unspeakably  much,  he  loses  who,  as 
he  walks  by  pastures  green  and  waters  of 
quietness,  does  not  see  in  the  background 
the  gentle  figure  of  the  Lord  our  Shep- 
herd! 


TEbc  Sbinina  face 


99 

Rest  from  toil  is  not  rest  from  religion. 
It  IS  opportunity.  His  servants  serve 
Him  day  and  night.  "They  shall  be  still 
praismg  Thee."  The  sight  of  the  Crea- 
tor s  abundant  glories  can  only  attune  a 
true  soul  to  a  devouter  worship. 

"Li  i^w  hand  are  the  deep  places  of  the  earth. 
The  heights  of  the  mountains  are  His  also. 
Ihe  sea  is  His,  and  He  made  it. 

And  His  hands  formed  the  dry  land. 
O  come,  let  us  worship  and  bow  down." 


t>c  brouflbt  me  out  into  a  broaD  place. 


A  BROAD  PLACE 


One  July  evening,  as  the  sun  was  set- 
ting, I  wandered  along  a  narrow  road  that 
wound  across  a  hillside  of  the  German 
Harz.    The  road  was  somewhat  gloomy, 
as  trees  were  thickly  planted  on   both 
sides,  and  a  viper  had  been  seen  there 
but    a    day    or    two  before.    The    path 
climbed  almost  imperceptibly  to  a  point 
where  it  bent  sharply  to  the  left,  and  lo! 
there  burst  upon  my  view  a  scene  of  thrill- 
ing contrast  to  the  narrow  way  by  which 
I  had  come.    Miles  and  miles  of  lovely 
land  stretched  right  and  left,  and  on  in 
front,  away  to  distant  hills— all  bathed  in 
the  beautiful  evening  light.    The  sense 
of  relief,  of  surprise,  of  room  and  dis- 
tance, after  emerging  from  the  dark  and 
crooked  way,  was  almost  overpowering. 
Under  the  inspir?    -n  of  the  larger  out- 
look, a  deep  and  ,     d  content  came  over 
one.    Here  it  was  possible   to   breathe 

103 


W4        In  tbe  t)Ottr  of  Silence 

more  freely  and  to  think  the  most  hope- 
tul  things.    A  new  sense  of  wonder  and 
undreamt-of    possibilities    woke    in    the 
heart;  and,  with  the  narrow  way  behind 
me.  and  the  brave  smiling  land  before 
me.  the  verse  of  the  Psalmist  leaped  into 
my  mind;     He  bringeth  me  out  into  a 
broad  place."    There,  as  it  seemed  to  me. 
was  a  living  picture  of  the  difference  that 
God  makes  to  the  life  that  trusts  Him. 
Without  Him,  gloom,  danger,  and  many 
turnings;  with  Him,  the  peace  and  liberty 
of  the  broad  place. 

,  "^,f  if'"^^^^   "^^    out   into  a  broad 
place.     That  was  a  mountaineer's  confes- 
sion of  faith.     Pent  within  narrow  passes, 
and  not  seldom  pursued  by  relentless  foes 
he  longed  to  rest  his  eyes  upon  farther 
reaches  and  wider  horizons;  and  when  he 
found  them,  they  reminded  him  of  the 
room  and  the  liberty  won  for  him  by  his 
God.    How  noble  a  confession,  how  sim- 
ple, how  profound!     He,  the  unseen  God, 
bringeth  me,  whose  life  is  cramped  and 
harassed,  out  into  a  broad  place.    And 
that  IS  a  confession  for  Christian  lips  no 


a  Sroat)  Place  ,05 

^ne  light  of  Christ  we  see  more  clearlv 

are-bS,*^  '""  "'^^'^  '"'°  "'"^"- 

One  of  the  deadliest  enemies  of  the 

jberty  and  vision  which  should  be  our^  u 

the  spmt  of  care-that  nervous  anx^tv 

r„H      l'""  "'^  "^^y'  to  ^O"'^.  and  p'ans 
^"  V'^"""^  *"<*  ''"^.  as  if  ;here  v^ere 

bre  ,^„5':i-'''"''^  "^-    ''  '^  '"deed  a  Tom' 
bre  and  discouraging  path  along  whidi 
those  travel  who  know  of  no  rfsouries 
but  those  which  they  find  in  themselves 
They  see  nothmg  but  a  step  or  two  ahead 

S^Tnd     Th"'7    ^•""'"'^  °f   'he   way 
beyond.    They  know  that  any  moment 

bTi«  M"^^  ""'y  cross  thefr  p"  th   "' 
Jut  let  Chnst  speak  His  emancipating 

"^V^'*""'™' for  the  morrow. 
Behold  the  birds  of  the  heaven 
Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field  ' 
Be  no,  ,h    etore  anxious,  saying, 
What  shall  we  eat,  or  what  shall  we  drink? 
For  your  heavenly  Father  knoweth 
that  ye  have  need  of  all  these  things." 


io6 


In  tbe  Dour  of  Silence 


The  faltering  soul  which  listens  and 
believes,  is  led  to  a  height  from  which 
it  can  survey  the  vast  expanses  of  the 
future  with  fearlessness  and  joy.  The 
sky,  which  we  had  forgotten  because 
we  could  not  see  it,  stretches  overhead 
again;  a  fair  land  lies  before  us  as  far  as 
we  can  see;  and  the  quiet  light  of  the 
love  of  God  rests  over  all. 

And  what  Christ  does  for  the  victim  of 
care.  He  can  do  for  the  victim  of  selfish- 
ness. For  the  path  of  the  self-centered 
man  is  also  dark  and  lonely.  He  looks 
upon  other  men  but  as  means  to  his  ends, 
and  so  forfeits  the  love  of  those  whom 
he  uses.  He  has  no  eye  for  interests 
beyond  his  own,  sees  in  his  friends  noth- 
ing but  instruments  of  his  own  ambition 
or  pleasure,  has  no  share  in  any  of  the 
great  movements— whether  social,  polit- 
ical or  religious— that  lift  humanity  a  little 
nearer  its  goal;  and  so  he  goes  alone  and 
unloved  along  his  selfish  way.  He  is  like 
a  waif  in  the  centuries.  He  does  not  feel 
the  divine  thrill  that  runs  through  all  the 
ages. 


a  33road  Place  107 

.         But  let  Christ  take  such  an  one  by  the 
hand  and  bring  him  to  a  pinnacle  from 
which  he  can  see  the  far-stretching  king- 
dom  of  God.    Let  him  look  with  earnest 
eyes  at  the  vistas  that  Christ  opens  up:  a 
kingdom  that  stretches  over  every  conti- 
nent and  island,  a  kingdom    to    which 
humanity  owes  her  greatest  gains,  and 
within  which  the  noblest  work  of  our  race 
has  been  done,  a  kingdom,  too,  within 
which  the  plainest  man  finds  the  monot- 
onous  tasks  of  his  daily  life  consecrated 
and  transfigured,  a  kingdom  that  endureth 
forever  and  ever.    Let  him  look  at  the 
church  of  Christ,  warring  implacably  for 
ages  against  all  the  forces  that  stain  and 
destroy  the    human   soul -that  church 
which  IS  built  upon  a  rock  and  against 
which  no  power  shall  ever  prevail,  for  the 
Master  hath  spoken  it.    Let  him   look 
until  he  feels  how  poor,  how  pathetic  and 
foolish,    IS    the    little    life    that   stands, 
unmoved  and  irresponsive,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  that  eternal  kingdom  and  invinci- 
ble church.    It  is  with  the  largest  ideas 
and  the  bravest  imaginations  that  Christ 


108        f  n  tbe  l^onr  or  Silence 

appeals  to  our  better  life.  "Our  Father 
who  art  in  heaven."  In  all  the  common 
thingrs  that  make  up  our  life  it  is  no  less 
than  that  Father's  will  that  is  to  be  done, 
and  His  kingdom  that  is  to  come.  By  liv- 
ing within  the  inspiration  of  these  mighty 
thoughts,  we  learn  to  breathe  the  ampler 
air  of  the  heavenly  places  in  which  He 
dwells.  Verily  He  bringeth  us  out  into  a 
broad  place. 

And  again,  the  glorious  sight  that 
greeted  my  eyes  after  reaching  the  end 
of  the  narrow  way  seemed  to  me  but  a 
prophecy  of  the  glory  that  awaits  the 
faithful  who  have  gone  through  the  last 
valley.  That,  too,  must  be  dark,  and  it 
has  to  be  trodden  alone.  Few  men  can 
think  of  the  way  with  joy.  But  Christ 
has  robbed  it  of  its  terrors,  and  we  may 
be  sure  that  it  leads  to  a  beautiful  land. 
The  glory  of  God  shall  lighten  it,  and 
the  Lamb  shall  be  the  lamp  thereof;  and 
our  song  there  shall  be,  "He  led  me 
through  the  valley  of  the  deep  shadow, 
and  He  hath  brought  me  out  into  a  broad 
place." 


«JR?*r/l^,  Xorj  turne&  aoain  tb^  cap- 
ttptn?  Of  2ion,  like  tbem  tbat  bream 
were  we. 


LIKE  THEM  THAT  DREAM 

Not  many  living    men    to-day  know 
much  about  exile.    Many  indeed    have 
left  their  own  land  for  another.    But  they 
have  left  it,  for  the  most  part,  of  their 
own  free  will;  they  have  not  been  driven 
away  by  stress  of   persecution  or  war. 
Now  many  of  the  psalms,  and  some,  too, 
of  the  greatest,  will  be  for  ever  a  sealed 
book,  until  we  learn  to  understand  the 
exile's  heart,  with  its  wild  regrets  and  its 
wilder  hopes.    The  true  citizens  of  Zion 
could  never  be  happy  in  the  Babylon  to 
V  nich  they  had  been  driven.    The  level 
monotony  of  its  plains   contrasted    too 
sadly  with  the  glorious  hills  of  the  home 
land  to  which  in  imagination  they  often 
lifted  up  their  eyes;  the  brilliance  of  its 
temples  fell  like  a  blight  upon  the  hearts 
of  men  who  yearned  to  stand  within  the 
courts  of  their  Lord  in  Zion.    So,  when 

II 


"2        fn  tbc  Dour  of  Silence 

the  night  of  exile  had  passed,  and  the 
moi-ning  of  redemption  was  breaking, 
there  arose  within  those  desolate  hearts 
an  overpowering  gladness. 

"When  the  Lord  turned  again  the  captivity  of 
Zion, 
Like  them  that  dream  were  we." 
Like  men  in  a  dream  they  crossed  the 
weary  desert  that  lay  between  them  and 
home— the  now  glorious  desert  which  had 
become  the  highway  of  their  God.    They 
reached  the  holy  city  and  trod  its  ancient 
streets  once  more.    They  walked  about  it 
as  in  a  dream— that  dear  city  they  had 
never  thought  to  see  again.    Soon  indeed 
they  were  to  be  met  by  more  reverses  and 
disappointment;  but  for  the  moment  they 
could  forget  the  sorrow  that  beset  them 
behind   and  before,  and  abandon  them- 
selves to  the  joy  of  those  who  have  come 
home  again  to  the  Father's  house.    The 
Lord  had  done  great   things  for  them, 
and  they  were  glad.     For  very  joy  they 
could  hardly  believe  their  eyes.    It  was 
all  like  a  dream.    We  can  fancy  them 
moving    wistfully  about    from   point    to 


Xlfcc  TCbcm  Ubat  Dream       113 

point,  fearful  lest  they  should  break  the 
spell,  and  then  bursting  into  a  hymn  of 
praise,  when  they  had  assured  their  weary 
hearts  that  the  dream  was  a  living,  throb- 
bing fact. 

Every  man  has  his  Babylon.    In  some 
kmd  of  captivity  we  are  all  languishing— 
m  the  bondage  of  fear,  of  sorrow,  of  sin 
or  of  death.    The  shackles  are  upon  our 
soul,  and  the  desert  is  between  us  and  the 
land  where  we  should  be.    Well  is  it  for 
us,  if  we  allow  the  Lord  to  turn  our  cap- 
tivity, and  bring  us  back  to  Zion,  and 
bless  us  with  that  dream  which  the  world 
cannot  give,  and  which  nothing  but  our 
own  doubt  and  infidelity  can  take  away. 
There  is  many  a  redemption  in  our 
common  life  that  dimly  shadows  forth  the 
redemption  which  Christ  is  yearning  to 
work  upon    our   captive    spirits.    Worn 
with  the  stress  of  a  long  year's  work,  we 
leave  it  all  behind  us  some  summer  day 
and  go  away  to  the  hills  or  the  fields,' 
where  there  is  room.    The  soul  expands 
into  a  new  sense  of  liberty.    The  cares 
are  forgotten.    We  feel  our  kinship  with 


114 


In  tbe  l^ottt  ot  Silence 


the  great  primal  things.  Our  spirits 
drink  in  the  gladness  and  the  redemption 
of  it  all:  and  the  world  about  us  seems  as 
a  dream. 

Or  it  may  be  that  our  life  has  been 
crushed  by  the  horror  of  some  long  sus- 
pense. We  waited  for  a  word,  or  a  turn- 
ing of  circumstance,  which  seemed  as  if  it 
would  never  come.  At  last  the  word  was 
spoken,  or  circumstanr:e  changed;  and  in 
a  moment  our  world  was  transformed. 
It  was  all  as  fair  as  a  dream.  The  sur- 
prise passed  into  a  rapture  of  gratitude, 
as  the  certainty  grew  upon  us  that  the 
dream  was  fact.  And  after  such  a  mo- 
ment, when  startled  by  some  sudden 
beneficence  of  God,  we  can  never  be  alto- 
gether pessimists  any  more. 

Now  such  redemption  from  care  or 
suspense  is  but  a  faint  prophecy  of  that 
larger  redemption  and  that  world  of  more 
glorious  dream,  into  which  Christ  will 
usher  all  who  will  let  Him.  "When  the 
Lord  turned  again  the  captivity  of  Zion, 
we  were  like  them  that  dream."  To  the 
captive  Jew,  that  Lord  was  the  invisible 


Xilie  Ubem  Ubat  S)team 


II! 


God:  to  us,  the  Lord  is  Christ.  When  our 
Lord  Christ  turns  any  captivity  of  ours  in 
which  we  have  been  languishing,  then  we 
too,  smitten  by  the  splendor  of  the 
redemption  which  He  can  work,  become 
like  them  that  dream.  Who  has  not  been 
the  bondslave  of  weariness — not  the  wear- 
iness of  the  body  only,  but  that  deeper 
weariness  of  the  mind  and  heart?  Tired 
of  the  shibboleths  of  party  and  sect,  of 
the  negations  of  criticism  or  the  perplex- 
ities of  creed,  of  the  conventional  stand- 
ards of  society  and  church,  seeking  rest 
and  finding  none,  believing  in  the  dream- 
land, yet  languishing  in  the  captivities — 
such  are  some  of  us.  Then  some  familiar 
word  of  Christ  comes  back  upon  us.  "All 
ye  that  are  weary,  come  unto  me,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest."  The  old  words  light 
'ip  with  new  meaning,  tremble  with  new 
power.  As  in  a  flash,  we  see — and  we 
wonder  why  we  did  not  see  it  before — 
that  it  is  to  Him  we  are  to  come,  not  to 
party  or  sect,  criticism  or  creed,  society  or 
church,  but  to  His  own  dear  self,  and 
when  we  come,  we  find  with  glad  surprise, 


ii6        f  n  tbe  *our  ot  Silence 

how  easy  is  His  yoke,  and  how  light  His 
burden.  We  are  startled  by  the  freedom 
which  is  ours  in  His  service.  When  He 
turns  again  our  captivity,  we  are  like 
them  that  dream. 

There  is  no  captivity  which  He  cannot 
turn.    The  deepest  sin  and  the  sharpest 
sorrow— it  is  all  alike  to  Him.    He  is  the 
Redeemer  and   He  can  redeem  to  the 
uttermost.    We  must,  however,  be  willing 
to  be  redeemed.    We  must  obey,  when 
He  says,  "Follow."    But  when  we  hate 
the  sm  which  vexes  Him  and  turn  with 
faith  and  penitence  to  Him,  when  we  fol- 
low in  the   track    marked    out   by  His 
wounded  feet.  He  will  bring  us  into  His 
own  beautiful  dreamland,  in  which  His 
Father  causes  His  sun  to  shine  upon  the 
erring  and  the  broken-hearted.    Pardon 
for  sin  and  consolation  in  sorrow— your 
heavenly  Father  knoweth  that  ye  have 
need  of  these  things. 

There  is  another  captivity  to  which 
few,  if  any,  have  been  altogether  stran- 
gers. There  are  some  who  "through  fear 
of  death  are  all  their  lifetime  subject  to 


Xilte  TTbem  TCbat  Bream       117 

bondagfe,"  and  some  time  or  other,  every 
thoughtful  man  is  captive  to  that  fear. 
What  is  death?    Who  knows?    Its  mys- 
tery is  perplexing.    Its  possibilities  are 
weird.     Its    darkness    is    impenetrable. 
The    rich  man's  voice  could    be   heard 
across  the  awful  gulf  that  separated  him 
from  Abraham;  but  not  across  that  still 
more  awful  gulf  that  separated  him  from 
his  brethren  in  the  land  of  the  living. 
And  no  Lazarus  ever  came  back  to  them 
with  a  grim  tale  upon  his  unsealed  lips. 
The  mystery  of  it  all  must  at  some  time 
strike  fear  into  any  but  a  reckless  heart. 
But  in  the  fulness  of  the  time  there 
came    One    to    deliver    all    those    who 
through  fear  of  death  are  all  their  life- 
time subject  to  bondage.     He   met  and 
vanquished  that  dark  and  cruel   Power 
which  has  been   the  terror  of  millions. 
After  His  victory  He   passed  into   His 
shining  house,  and  He  is  now  standing  at 
the  door,   which   is  never  shut    day  or 
night,  to  welcome  all  who  have  finished 
their  course  in  faith.    So  death  is  none 
other  than   the  gate    of  heaven.    How 


"8        In  tbc  Dour  of  Stlcncc 

strange  and  dreamlike  it  will  seem  to  us, 
when  we  are  delivered  not  only  from  the 
fear  of  death,  but  from  death  itself,  and 
find  ourselves  citizens  of  the  heavenly 
city,  walking  about  its  streets,  marking  its 
bulwarks,  counting  its  towers,  finding  our 
lost  ones,  meeting  the  patient  and  mighty 
saints  of  all  the  generations,  singing 
praises  with  the  glorious  company  of  the 
apostles,  and  the  noble  army  of  martyrs, 
worshipping  the  God  who  loved  us  and 
gave  His  son  to  turn  our  captivity.  Ah! 
surely  when  the  Lord  thus  turns  the  cap- 
tivity of  His  careworn  Zion,  we  shall  be 
like  them  that  dream. 


Utc^  tbat  sow  in  tears  sball  reap 
witb  rinding  cries. 


THE  SOWING  AND  THE  SHEAVES 

"When  the  Lord  turned  again  the  captivity  of 
Zion, 

Like  them  that  dream  were  we. 
Then  was  our  mouth  filled  with  laughter, 
And  our  tongue  with  a  ringing  cry." 

But  soon  the  laughter  turned  to  tears, 
and  the  cry  became  a  cry  of  sorrow,  be- 
cause the  snell  of  the  dream  had  been 
broken  by  hard  and  stubborn  fact.  The 
city  to  which  the  exiles  had  come  back 
was  but  a  mockery  of  their  high  hopes. 
Its  ancient  glories  had  departed.  The  iiky 
above  them  was  brazen;  the  earth 
beneath  them  was  barren;  and  around 
them  were  enemies  who  thwarted  their 
evepr  plan.  So  they  lift  up  their  sorrow- 
ful faces  and  pray  again. 

"Turn  again,  O  Lord,  our  captivity 
As  waters  in  the  dry  south  land." 

The  facts  had  driven  away  the  dream. 


lai 


"2        In  tbe  l^onr  or  Stience 

and  with  the  dream,  the  joy  and  the  glory 
of  life  had  vanished.  They  walked  about 
their  ancient  city  as  disillusioned  men;  on 
every  street  their  failure  stared  them  in 
the  face.  They  looked  for  much,  says 
Haggai,  but  behold!  little.  They  are  as 
men  who  have  sown  in  tears,  sown,  too,  it 
would  seem,  among  the  stones  and  thorns. 
If  harvest  there  be  at  all,  what  can  they 
look  for  but  a  few  miserable  sheaves — a 
veritable  harvest  of  tears? 

But  no!  a  thousand  times  no!    Not  such 
is  the  faith  ol  Israel! 

"They  that  sow  in  tears 

Shall  reap  with  ringing  cries. 
Forth  he  far-s  weeping, 

Bearing  i    i  seed  to  scatter, 
Home  he  conies  with  ringing  cries, 

His  arm  full  of  sheaves." 

We  thought  we  were  listening  to  the 
wail  of  broken-hearted  men.  Now  we 
know  it  to  be  the  glad  shout  of  triumphant 
faith.  The  faith  which  breathes  through 
the  sorrowful  verses  of  the  Psalm  is  as 
strong  as  that  which  throbs  in  its  earlier 
part.    Nay,  is  it  not  stronger?    For  it  is 


TTbe  Sowino  an6  tbe  Sbeaves     123 

easy  to  send  up  your  ringing  cry,  when 
Jehovah  turns  the  captivity  of  Zion,  gives 
you  your  heart's  desire  and  brings  you  into 
the  haven  where  you  would  be.    But  it  is 
different  when  you  are  on  the  dry  land, 
and  when  the  seed  has  to  be  sown  upon  it 
with  tears.    Then  nothing  but  faith  in  a 
kindly  providence,  which  knows  how  to 
bless  as  well  as  tarry,  can  redeem  the  soul 
from  sorrow  and  despair.    Or  rather  it  is 
no  abstract  providence,  however  kindly; 
it  is  the  living  God  Himself.    It  is  Jeho- 
vah with  whom  the  singer  pleads  to  turn 
Zion's  captivity— He  who  will  and  can; 
for  has  He  not  turned  another  captivity 
as  hopeless  and  terrible?    The    eye   of 
faith  sees  the  rain  already  descend  upon 
the    waterless    ground.     Through     her 
tears,  faith  can  see  the  golden  harvest 
waving  upon  the  now  barren  land,  though 
there   may  be  years,  nay  centuries,  be- 
tween    the    sowing    and    the    sheaves. 
Through  the  silence,  broken  only  by  sobs, 
the  ear  of  faith   can   hear    the  ringing 
shouts,  as    home    the   harvesters   come, 
bearing  their  sheaves  with  them.    So  the 


«a4        In  tbe  »ottr  ot  stience 

dream  has  not  been  forgotten  after  all. 
No  man  can  see  such  sights  and  hear  such 
sounds  but  the  man  who  bears  the  dream 
about  with  him  in  his  heart.  Such  a  dream 
of  Jehovah's  love,  such  an  experience  of 
the  surprises  of  His  redemption,  will  in- 
spire and  glorify  our  common  life;  and  if 
our  sowing  be  half  in  tears,  it  will  be  also 
half  m  rapture. 

Many  a  generation  of  pilgrims  must 
have  proved   the   truth    of  this  pilgrim 
mim.    It  was  not  an  easy  thing  for  them 
to  leave  the  far  country,  which  they  had 
made  their  home,  and  journey  to  the  holy 
city    They  had  to  go  over  long  and  often 
perilous  ways.    They  had  to  sow  in  tears. 
But    when    their   feet  stood  within   the 
courts  of  the  house  of  their  Lord,  and 
their  souls  thrilled  with  the  stimulus  and 
inspiration  of  the  worship,  they  felt  that 
they  had  not  sown  in  vain.    They  went 
home  glad,  refreshed  and  strong,  with 
their  arms  full  of  sheaves    that   would 
satisfy  their  hunger  after  God  for  many 
days  to  come. 

Yes.    Life  is  an  uneven  thing;  and  it 


trbe  Sowina  and  tbe  Sbc«v<0    135 

is  the  fewest  to  whom  it  is  given  to  rejoice 
evermore.    But  there  is  a  God  who  can 
turn  every  captivity;  that  is  the  hope  and 
the  consolation    of  life.      Every  winter 
shall  change  to  spring,  and  every  seed- 
time to  harvest.    Some  day  indeed  tears 
will  stand  on  every  earnest  face.    The 
discipline  of  life  may  vex  and  trouble  us. 
But  it  need  not  crush  us,  if  we  can  only 
believe  in  a  God  who  can  change  our  for- 
tunes and  turn  our  captivities.    "My  first 
impressions,"  wrote  a  great  missionary  to 
the  cannibal  islands  of  the  southern  seas, 
"my  first  impressions  drove  me,   I  must 
confess,  to  the  verge  of  utter  dismay.    O  - 
beholding  these  natives  in  their  paint  and 
nakedness  and  misery,  my  heart  was  as  full 
of  horror  as  pity."   But  about  thirty  years 
after,  the  tears  had  changed  to  laughter. 
"I  have  been  to  the  islands  again,"  he 
wrote,  "since  my   return    from    Britain, 
The  whole  inhabitants  of  Aniwa   were 
there  to  welcome  me,  and  my  procession 
to  the  old  mission  house  was  more  like 
the  triumphal  march  of  a  conqueror  than 
that  of  a  humble  missionary.    Every  serv- 


4 

4 


126 


In  tbe  t)our  or  Silence 


ice  of  the  Church  was  fully  sustained  by 
native  teachers." 

And  yet  life  is  not  always  so  s  an  pie. 
Every  brave  and  strenuous  man  dr(s  not 
quit  the  scene  of  his  activity  at  the  head 
of  a  triumphal  procession,  and  with  cries 
of  approbation  ringing  in  his  ears.     No! 
many  a  man  has  been  called  away  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  and  sorrow  in  his  heart. 
The  Hebrew  words  of  the  last  verse  of 
the  Psalm  leave  it  open  for  us  to  suppose 
that  the  man  who  sows  with  tears  is  not 
also— at  any  ^ate  not   always— the  man 
who  comes  singing  home,  with  his  arms 
full  of  sheaves.    One  sows,  another  reaps. 
The   Master  knew  the    pathos    of  that 
experience.    Yet  it  were  almost  untrue  to 
the  genius  of  our  religion  to  speak  of 
that  as  pathos;  for  is  not  that  just  the 
end  and  the  glory  of  every  human  life— 
to  contribute,  as  it  may  and  can,  to  the 
great  far-off  purpose  of  God?     Here,  in 
the  Psalm,  is  a  large  and  beautiful  faith 
in  a  beneficent  providence — the  faith  that, 
whether  soon  or  late,  the  seed  sown  in 
weariness  and  tears  will  be  brought  back 


XTbe  Sowittd  anb  tbe  Bbcavcs    12; 

as  sheaves  an  nimble  arms  and  with  shouts 

of  gladness.    The  hands  that  scattered 

the  seed   may  not  be  suffered   to  bear 

home  the  golden   grain,  but  it   is  borne 

home  by  somebody.      For  the   laborers 

are  God's  and  the  harvest  is  God's.     No 

seed  is  ever  flung  from  any  faithful  hand 

in  vain.     In  His  good  time,  if  not  in  ours, 

it  will  spring  up  and   bear   its  destined 

fruit;  and  some  heart,  if  not  ours,  will  be 

glad.   Yes,  and  ours,  too;  for  God  is  as 

mindful  of  the  sower  as  the  reaper,  and 

one  day — how  far  away  we  know  not— he 

that  soweth  and   he  that   reapeth  shall 

rejoice  together. 


tbcrc  a  well  ot  Uptno  water. 


DEEP  DIGGING 

There  are  parts  of  Palestine  refreshed 
the    long,    fierce    summer    through    by 
springs  and  copious  fountains,  and  there 
are  other  parts  where  springs  are  few  and 
men  who  need  water  must  dig  for  it     It 
was  such   a  spot   that   Isaac  had   for  a 
home;   and  child  of  the   promise  as  he 
was.  with  strange  visions  of  a  splendid 
future  in  the  far-off  days  haunting  those 
dreamy  eyes  of  his,  he  has  yet  to  face  the 
practical  problem   of  finding  water   for 
thirsty  men  and  cattle.    In  part,  he  is  heir 
to  his  father's    wells;    for  the  rest,   he 
must  dig  for  the  water  he  needs,  dig  till 
he  finds  it.    "And  Isaac's  servants  digged 
in  the  valley  and  found  there  a  well  of  liv- 
mg  water."     How  the  eyes  of  the  diggers 
would  gleam   as,   almost  like  a    human 
thing,  the  fresh,  kindly  water  leaped  up 
to  welcome  them! 

131 


132 


In  tbe  f)our  of  Silence 


Living  water  for  living  men ;  for  men 
who  will  steadily  and  bravely  cut  their 
way  through  all  difficulty  and  impediment 
to  the  refreshment  without  which  their 
soul  languisheth  as  in  a  thirsty  land. 

And  is  not  Palestine,  with  her  hills  and 
her  valleys,  her  dry  places  and  her  wells, 
the  mirror  of  all  human  experience? 
Sometimes  a  thirsty  tract  of  our  own  life 
is  watered  and  blessed  by  wells  which  we 
have  not  digged.  All  unexpected,  water 
leaps  up  from  the  hard  rock  at  our  feet, 
or,  at  the  least,  we  have  fallen  heir  to 
wells  which  our  fathers  have  digged  for 
us.  But  there  are  other  tracts  on  whivh 
our  fathers  can  do  nothing  for  us,  and  we 
shall  perish  of  thirst  if  we  will  not  our- 
selves dig  down  till  we  reach  the  living 
water. 

Every  life  that  would  be  mighty  must 
know  what  it  is  to  muse.  Every  heart 
that  would  commune  with  God  must 
throb  with  yearning  and  aspiration. 
There  must  be  mysticism  so'-evVere. 
But  there  must  be  more.  The  cite  cool 
water  is  not  to  be  had  for  the  wishing, 


XDeep  Bidding  133 

but  for  the  digging.  With  faith  in  the 
ground  beneath  our  feet  we  must  dig 
down  and  Jown  till  the  sweat  stands  upon 
our  brow.  Thus  and  only  thus  can  we 
reach  the  water,  and  only  thus  do  we 
deserve  it.  This  treasure,  like  many 
another,  is  hidden,  and  will  only  reveal 
itself  to  the  man  who  bends  his  back  to 
dig  for  it. 

Genius  is  rare;  but  industry,  the  capac- 
ity for  taking  infinite  pains,  is  nearly  as 
rare.    And  that  is  why  so  many  lives  are 
so  sapless,  so  destitute  of  any  touch  of 
the  divine.    They  are  not  refreshed  by 
living  waters,  because  there  has  been  no 
trigging.    Any  experience    carries    deep 
down  within  it  something  of   God.     But 
we  will  do  nothing  more  than  scratch  the 
surface  of  it;  most  often,  not  even  that. 
We  stand  lazily  upon  it,  without  piercing 
through  it  to  the  thing  that  would  refresh 
us.    We  forget  that  if  we  descend  to  the 
depths.   He    is  there.     How  stimulating 
should  be  the  contemplation  of  our  past 
as  we  watch  it  wandering,  now  this  way, 
now  that,   but  never  away  from   God's 


'34        In  tbe  »ottr  oX  Silence 

unslumberii  g  care!  But  the  days  drift 
away.  From  thoughtlessness  or  indiffer- 
ence we  will  not  descend  into  their  mean- 
ing  and  purpose;  and  can  we  wonder  that 
they  deny  us  their  inspiration?  The  -e  is 
no  living  water  for  the  man  who  vill  not 
dig. 

How  seldom  is  it,  too,  that  study  is  a 
delight!    No   great   book,    least   of  all, 
Scripture,  will  yield  up  its  secrets  unless 
to  the  fierce  persistence  of  the  digger-  for 
those  secrets  are  hidden  in  the  depths. 
We  move  airily  across  its  chapters,  when 
we  should  pause  and  assure  ourselves  that 
deep  down  are  living  waters,  and  brace 
oureelves  resolutely  to  the  patient  search 
without  which  those  waters  cannot  all  be 
ours.     Surface    meanings    are    for   idle 
souls;  the  more  patiently  and  prayerfully 
"^^/^^rch  the  depths,  the  more  surely 
and  abundantly  shall  we  find  that  well  of 
water  which  springeth  up  into  everiasting 

One  of  Christ's  parables  immortalizes 
a  man  who  said,  "I  cannot  dig."  And  it 
IS  no  accident  that  this  man  was  a  dishon- 


S)eep  S)fdgtn0  135 

est  knave,  who  wasted  his  master's  goods 
and  had  no  sense  of  stewardship.  But 
why  should  any  man  of  us  refuse  to  dig, 
whose  hope  is  sustained  by  the  promise 
of  the  Lord  that  he  that  seeketh  shall 
surely  find? 


Ifl 


6ol)  over  an,  an^  tbrouflb  all,  anb 
in  all. 


1 


THE  KEY  OF  KNOWLEDGE 

Perhaps  the  world,  like  the  individual, 
has  forgotten  many  things  it  once  knew: 
and  one  of  those  things  is  the  paramount 
importance  of  religion.  Time  was  when 
every  important  act  of  life  had  to  receive 
her  sanction.  The  unseen  was  felt  to 
play  about  the  seen,  and  by  sacrifice  or 
prayer  it  was  acknowledged.  But  the 
advance  of  knowledge  drove  away  the 
mystery  it  should  have  heightened,  and 
the  world  was  left  devoid  of  wonder  and 
of  God. 

Now  one  cannot  but  be  struck  with  the 
Biblical  attitude  to  knowledge.  Some- 
times it  is  depreciated,  as  that  which 
puffeth  up,  and  contrasted,  to  its  discredit, 
with  the  love  which  buildeth  up:  it  is  a 
thing  which  "shall  be  done  away."  But 
more  often  it  is  linked  with  religion,  and 
its  power  made  to  depend  upon  the  close- 

139 


'40         In  tbc  Dour  of  Silence 

ness  of  this  link     The  fear  of  the  Lord  is 

nnnH  f-""'"^."?^  knowledge,  at  once  its 
foundation  and  its  crown. 

,     It  is  not  because  the*  Bible  is  a  relig- 

Jhini°1-'^V'  '°  ^°"^^^"^^^  -o'nbinfs 
things  which  the  modern  world  as  con- 

stantly  strives  to  hold  apart.    It  is  because 

it  IS  a  true  book,  and  because  the  men  who 

wrote  It  saw  deep  into  the  meaning  of 

hn^'\T-^J    '^7    '^'''    besetting    all 
things  behind  and  before,  was  God  and 

that  no  real  knowledge  of  the  things  was 
{hem       ^P^''^^^'"  '^^  God  who  beset 

The  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  not 
only  the  law  of  Scripture,  but  also  those 
great  laws  which  uphold  and  govern  all 

tTat  othir"— •    T'T  ^^-^^-'  ^^^e 
that  other,    rejoice  the  heart"  of  the  true 

student;  for  he  finds  in  them  revelatL^: 
of  a  majestic  presence,  which  is  from 
everlasting  to  everlasting.  It  matters  not 
whether  his  study  be  that  of  moral  or 
astronomical  law;  every  new  fact  will  be 
a  fresh  revelation  of  the  Infinite  and 
Eternal,  whom  no  one,  by  searching,  can 


Ube  *€!?  ot  'RnowlcDflc        141 

find  out  to  perfection,  whose  glory  flashes 
in  star  and  flower,  in  the  devotion  of  the 
saint  and  the  herosim  of  the  martyr. 
"Night  unto  night  sheweth  knowledge," 
but  to  the  psalmist,  it  was  knowledge  of 
the  glory  of  God.  "When  I  consider  the 
heavens,"  said  another  psalmist,  "what  is 
man,  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him?" 
His  eyes  saw  beyond  the  heavens  to  One 
who  made  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  the 
stars  also. 

Imagination  trembles  to  think  to  what 
soaring  strains  those  deep-hearted  poets  of 
far-off  days  would  have  struck  their  harps, 
had  they  known  the  awful  majesty  of  the 
universe,  as  science  has  revealed  it  to  us 
to-day.  How  shallow  is  the  knowledge 
which  breeds  scepticism  or  even  indiffer- 
ence! A  true  soul  that  has  stood  even  in 
the  outer  court  of  such  a  temple,  can  only 
be  bowed  to  wonder,  reverence,  adora- 
tion. 

The  knowledge  of  facts  without  regard 
to  the  God  who  created  and  controls 
them,  is  knowledge  after  the  flesh  and 
not    after   the    spirit.    The    materialist 


I 


'42        fit  tbe  «onr  or  Silence 

t  may;  belief  in  Him  as  tlie  Lord  M 

ivlet'  f'^'^.Y?^  towards  somt°fr.,ff 
event,  for  winch,  in  our  best  moments  we 
long  w.,h  longing  unspeakable:  such  a 

rat1:nt;d%r'^^'^--"i'- 

|J^.^gnwtnd"-.L;^^-- 

the  professional  teachers  of  Scrip'ure  ta 

tewetedThe  r  i''?'^'""'***  ="«1  "^'n- 
Dln^  l-^-       S?*"  *''°  *«^  'heir  people's 
glory,  hidmg  His  splendor  behind  multi! 
tudes   of   heart-breaking   rules      In 
doing  they  kept  men  out^ofAe  kingdom 
of  heaven  and  brought  down  uponfhe" 

SatCSenta-rnS- 


TTbc  "Rc^  of  •Rnowlc^ije         143 

often;  most  men  never  see  it  at  all.  But 
oh!  how  we  gaze  in  adoring  silence,  when 
in  some  rare  deep  mood 

"Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea," 
and  the  mighty  meaning  of  the  world 
rises  before  us:  life,  death,  God,  eternity! 
Life  becomes  great,  and  study  luminous 
and  inspiring,  when  accompanied  by  the 
sense  of  the  "one  God  and  Father  of  all, 
who  IS  over  all,  and  through  all,  and  in 
all." 


ii. 


i 


t>avc  »c  not  rea^  wbat  S)avf{>  t>ii>l 


HAVE  YE  NOT  READ? 

This  is  a  question  of  Jesus,  and  like  all 
Mis  questions  it  searches  and   tries     It 
assumes  that  intelligent  people  will  read: 
It  implies  that  they  ought  to  read  intelli- 
gently    It  was  addressed  to  men  familiar 
with  the  letter  of  the  Old  Testament,  but 
unvisited  by  any  gleams  of  its  insight  and 
inspiration.    To-day    it    falls    too   often 
upon  ears  to  which  the  words  of  psalm 
and   prophecy,  gospel   and    epistle    and 
apocalypse  are  but  a  faded  memory;  and 
whether  IS  it  the  greater  crime  to  read 
and  misinterpret  or  not  to  read  at  all? 
1  he  Pharisees  and  Sadducees  betrayed 
the  trust  committed  to  them  by  prosaic 
pedantry,  by  a  loveless  and  unedifying 
literalism;  and  they  have  their  successors 
to-day  in   pulpit   and  pew.    But  is  not 
theirs  the  greatest  treachery  to  the  trust 
committed  once  for  all  to  the  Church  of 

147 


148 


In  tbe  'bottv  of  Silence 


Christ  in  the  Scriptures  of  the  Old  and 
New  Testament  who  simply  igrnore  it? 
Indifference  is  a  contempt  more  fatal  than 
opposition.  Happier  are  they  who  have 
striven  according  to  their  light  to  possess 
themselves  of  the  living  oracles  than  they 
who  can  only  hang  their  heads  in  shame 
when  the  Lord  asks,  "Have  ye  not  read?" 
Never  was  there  so  much  reading  or 
so  many  readers  as  to-day;  and  so  far 
this  is  a  sign  to  be  welcomed.  For  men 
do  not  live  by  ibread  only,  but  by  words  of 
the  living  God  and  of  men,  the  living  and 
the  dead.  Mind  is  hungering  for  knowl- 
edge, and  soul  for  rest,  and  they  satisfy 
their  longings  with  the  dreams,  the  imag- 
inations, the  discoveries  of  other  minds 
and  souls.  And  this  is  right.  The  ques- 
tion of  Jesus — have  ye  not  read? — has  a 
wider  scope  than  that  for  which  it  was 
first  designed.  The  books  which  His 
assailants  might  be  presumed  to  have 
read  were  those  which  enshrined  the 
noblest  national  thought.  These  books 
happened  to  be  the  Old  Testament 
Scriptures:  they  represented  the  heights 


1&«ve  1^  Hot  Weao?  149 

to  which  the  wisest  and  holiest  of  the 
people  had  climbed.    But  the  principle 
involved  IS  one  that  applies  to  all  that  is 
best   in    every  national    literature.     On 
every    man    lies    the    sacred    duty    of 
acquainting     himself     with    whatsoever 
things  are  pure  and  honorable  and  uplift- 
ing  in  any  literature  that  his  opportunities 
render  accessible  to  him.    "Have  ye  not 
read?      If  not,  how  can  ye  excuse  your- 
selves?   For  all  around  and  open  to  the 
poorest  are  the  means  of  dispelling  igno- 
rance,    mitigating     perplexity,     solving 
doubt,    sustaining    resolution,     kindling 
imagination..  Literature  is  a  trust-    we 
must  offer  to  all  that  would  build  us  ip  in 
knowledge  or  goodness  an  unhesitating 
welcome.    The  worth  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment carried  with  it  to  the  ancient  Jew 
the  obligation  to  familiarize  himself  with 
Its  contents.    So  every  gracious  thought 
every  ennobling  impulse  that  books  may 
bring  imposes  on  us  a  similar  obligation. 
Soul  must  commune  with  soul,  or  it  will 
starve  and  die.    It  is  not  open  to  us  to 
Ignore  any  message  that  might  illumine 


ISO 


In  tbe  l^onr  of  Silence 


or   stimulate  or   soothe;    have    ye    not 
read? 

But  the  oblisration  to  read  comes  with 
peculiarly  binding  force  in  the  case  of 
Holy  Scripture.  There,  as  nowhere  else, 
are  words  of  eternal  life;  words  which 
make  a  man  strong  to  endure  sorrow  and 
tribulation  in  this  world  and  inspire  him 
with  hope  in  the  world  to  come  of  life 
everlasting.  There,  as  nowhere  else,  God 
meets  man,  and  man  may  meet  God.  It 
lifts  him  to  Paradise,  and  shows  him 
things  unspeakable,  and  from  its  pages  on 
the  lowliest  life  falls  the  quiet  light  of 
eternity.  Wisdom  and  might  are  there; 
in  the  trusts  and  hopes  which  it  inspires, 
men  can  bravely  live  and  quietly  and  con- 
fidently die;  for  the  issues  are  with  God. 
Then  have  ye  not  read? 

With  the  biographies  of  the  Old  Test- 
ament and  certain  chapters  of  prophecy, 
with  the  main  incidents  of  the  gospels 
and  certain  chapters  of  the  epistles,  a 
superficial  familiarity  is  not  uncommon; 
but  how  many  golden  pages,  how  many 
whole  books  are  to  most  of  us  as  if  they 


I^ave  Ve  llot  1tai5T 


151 


had  never  been!  We  solemnly  profess 
our  faith  in  these  books  as  in  some  sense 
the  Word  of  God;  have  we  read  them  or 
have  we  not?  How  comes  it  that  the 
greatest  Book  in  the  world — the  Book 
which,  apart  from  the  tremendous  signif- 
icance of  its  message,  takes  the  first  place 
in  the  literature  of  the  world — is  the  one 
to  which  least  justice  is  done  by  the  read- 
ing public?  A  novel  can  count  upon  a 
more  patient  and  earnest  hearing  than 
the  Book  about  whose  verbal  inspiration 
the  most  bitter  controversies  have  been 
raised.  The  Bible  is  not  all  easy  reading. 
There  are  dark  things  in  prophecy  and 
things  "hard  to  be  understood  in  the 
epistles  of  our  beloved  brother  Paul." 
But  that  only  makes  it  all  the  more  im- 
perative that  the  ministry,  who  have  been 
solemnly  set  aside  to  devote  their  time 
and  gifts  to  ministering  to  the  people  in 
the  things  of  God,  should  put  their  people 
in  possession  of  the  entire  and  unmuti- 
lated  Word  of  God  by  the  exercise  of  all 
the  opportunities  which  a  devout  scholar- 
ship has  placed  at  their  disposal.    The 


«5a        f  n  tbc  l^onr  of  Silence 

people  are  bound  to  read;  their  ministers 

and  to  make  liflrht  to  arise  in  their  c^ark- 
ness  If  they  fail  there,  their  failure  is 
great  and  grievous. 

Does    the    enthusiasm   of   the   older 
saints  for  a  Bible  which  had  no   New 
1  estament  not  shame  us  who  live  in  the 
fulness  of  the  times  and  who  have  seen 
the  Lord?    How  often  have  we  cried, 
"The  law  of  Jehovah  is  my  delight. 
In  It  I  will  meditate  day  and  night. 
It  IS  more  precious  than  gold, 
Yea,  than  fine  gold  in  plenty, 
And  sweeter  than  honey. 
Yea,  than  honey  that  drops  from  the  comb. " 
Jesus  Himself,  in  whose  heart  the  per- 
fect law  was  written,  yet  turned  to  the 
words  of  Old  Testament  Scripture  for 
strength  and  comfort  in  His  agony.    In 

justified  His  gracious  ministry;  in  the 
words  of  a  psalm  He  commended  His 
departing  spirit  into  His  Father's  hands. 
The  brightest  and  bravest  faith  was  not  in- 
dependent of  Scripture,  nor  can  it  ever  be 


»«ve  JMiot  «ea&  ?  153 

But  it  18  possible  to  read  and  to  be  vet 
unblessed.    Without  an  open  mind  and 

.ZV         ^^'"?  '"*°"  ""^y  ^  "hissed. 

and  the  most  stirnngr  example  unedifying. 

In  all  our  reading  we  must  covet  earnestly 

the  power  to  apply;  we  must  read  with 
the  heart  and  with  the  understanding 
thr<;.iJ^''^  ^^.^  '■^^^'"sa'd  Jesus  to 
M  t^*^";^f' '  ^'^^  ^°^  «Pake  unto 
Moses?"  Of  course  they  had.  But  not 
with  the  seeing  eye;  they  had  not  seen 
the  atent  truth  of  immortality  in  the 
simple  words.  "I  am  the  God  of  Abra- 

nfJ?'*'      -J^f  ^  ^^  "°'  ''^^^  ^^^^  David 
did?    said  Jesus  again  to  the  Pharisees. 
Of  course  they  had.   But  they  did  not  see 
how  It  disarmed  their  objection  to  the 
innocent  conduct  of  the  hungiy  disciples 
as  they  plucked  the  ears  of  corn  on  the 
S?.bbath  day.    They  only  saw  ancient  and 
irrelevant  facts-theydid  not  see  in  those 
facts  the  embodiment  of  principles  which 
might  illustrate  and  guide  the  life  of  their 
own  day     They  had  got  the  lesson  by 
memory,  but  not  by  heart. 

Let  us  read,  then,  not  merely  that  we 


154         In  tbc  tour  of  Silence 

may  know  the  truth,  but  that  we  may  lay 
It  up  in  our  hearts  and  practise  it  in  our 
hves.    With  such  intelligent  and  prayer- 
ful reading  what  an  inspiration  biography 
might  be!  "Have  ye  not  read  what  David 
didr    The  wisdom  of  the  sage,  the  cour- 
age of  the  hero,  the  holiness  of  the  saint, 
are  all  for  us:  they  will  lift  us  out  of  our 
bondage  into  the  liberty  of  the  brave  and 
free.     Have  ye  not  read  what  Abraham, 
Moses,  Josiah,  Jeremiah,  Peter,  Paul  did? 
What  Savonarola,  John  Knox,   Wesley 
did?    Could  SO'  much  magnificer;    God- 
inspired    manhood    pass  before  us  and 
leave  us  uninspired?  Our  poor  little  lives, 
tossed  on  seas  of  temptation  and  care, 
need  some    sure   and   anchoring   word! 
Have  ye  not  read  what  Christ  did  and 
said?    If  not,  then  are  ye  poor  indeed,  for 
The  words  that  I  speak  unto  you,"  said 
He,    they  are  Spirit  and  they  are  Life." 


®bl  tbat  tbou  babst  ftnown  tbc  tbtnas 
tbat  pertain  to  tbp  welfare. 


I 

a!; 
k 
il- 


^■ii 


THE  THINGS  THAT  MATTER 

What  are  they— those  things  that  mat- 
ter? For  to  know  them  is  the  true  art  of 
life.  To  pursue  them  earnestly,  and  them 
alone,  is  to  be  safe  and  calm  and  glad;  it 
is  to  live  in  peace  and  die  in  hope.  Life 
is  passing,  and  death  is  coming,  and  the 
time  is  short,  and  the  things  that  matter 
we  must  know. 

Everywhere  men  are  in  deadly  earn- 
est. Purpose  is  written  plainly  upon 
almost  every  face.  Keen  eyes  look  out 
upon  you— eyes  more  keen  than  kindly— 
as  you  pass  down  the  busy  streets.  But 
how  much  of  all  that  earnestness,  purpose 
and  vision  is  directed  to  the  things  that 
matter?  Did  those  sharp  eyes  ever  see 
beyond  the  grave?  Did  those  nimble 
brains  ever  reckon  with  the  certainties  of 
another  world,  in  which  the  prizes  go  not 
to  the  cleverest,  but  to  the  best? 

157 


J    ! 


ill 


I 


«58        In  tbe  Dour  ot  Silence 

Here  surely  is  the  amazing  irony  of 
life,  that  far  the  largest  share  of  men's 
eagerness,      strenuousness,     enthusiasm, 
vigor,  is  spent  upon  the  things  that  do  not 
matter.    We  do  not  like  to  confess  this 
to  our  hearts.    Tn  the  clash  of  competi- 
tion, when  we  are  tasting  the  dangers  and 
delights  of  the  struggle,  and  our  hearts 
bound  at  the  thought  even  of  a  far-off 
victory,  we  cannot  be  expected  to  confess 
that  the  battle  is  a  foolish  one,  and  the 
victory  not  worth   tne  gaining.    To  do 
that  would  be  to  paralyze  the  right  arm. 
But  to  the  valiie  of  all  our  struggle  and 
purpose  we  may  bring  a  very  simple  test: 
what  will  it  do  for  us  at  the  last? 

Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that 
death  lies  at  the  end  of  the  journey  called 
life;  that  within  its  solemn  shades  the 
noise  of  all  our  struggle  shall  cease.  And 
every  aim  to  which  we  sacrifice  ourselves 
should  be  looked  at  in  the  light,  or  the 
darkness— if  you  will— of  that  inexorable 
certainty.  We  are  studying  to  be  rich, 
are  we?  Glad  if  the  years  see  growing 
gains;  and  in  the  struggle  we  are  selling 


tCbe  Vbinos  Vbat  Aatter       159 

our  strength,  our  peace,  and  it  may  be 
our  honor.  Good.  But  oh  my  soul!  re- 
member: across  the  threshold  of  death 
thou  shalt  carry  neither  gold,  nor  silver, 
nor  goodly  raiment,  nor  precious  stones. 
"How  much  did  he  leave?"  asked  a  friend 
of  a  rich  man  who  had  died.  "Every- 
thing," was  the  answer.    Everything. 

Or  are  our  hearts  set  on  pleasure — 
whether  the  cruel  pleasures  that  cost  so 
dear,  that  waste  our  strength,  and  harden 
our  hearts,  and  drag  down  womanhood  to 
hell,  or  pleasures  that  are,  if  not  so  guilty, 
yet  idle  and  empty?  Not  long  ago,  on  an 
Atlantic  liner,  there  travelled  with  us  a 
theatrical  troupe;  and  there,  beneath  the 
solemn  splendor  of  the  stars,  with  the 
silvery  moonlight  shimmering  upon  the 
rippling  waters,  they  would  gather  on  the 
deck  and  sing  their  empty  songs.  How 
little,  methought,  they  cared  for  the 
things  that  matter:  and  does  the  public, 
for  whom  such  t  ngs  are  sung,  care  more? 
How  foolish,  how  all  but  blasphemous, 
they  rang  amid  the  glories  of  the  night, 
and  sky,  and  sea!  and  what  would  they  do 


'^        In  tbc  Dour  of  Silence 

to  prepare  a  man  for  that  great  day 
which  neither  the  singers  nor  their  pub- 
lic shall  escape? 

Or  are  we  panting  after  the  phantom 
of    popularity?    Do   our   foolish    hearts 
flutter  with   pnde,  when  we   are    much 
spoken  of  by  men  and  women  whose  life 
IS  but  a  vapor,  and  do  we  scheme  to  win 
the  good  opinions  of  those  whose  hearts 
are  as  empty  as  our  own?    Ah!  what  will 
that  matter,  and  what  will  it  do  for  us 
when  the  Judge  is  seated,  and  the  Books 
are  opened? 

At  the  end  of  every  hope  we  cherish 
and  every  scheme  on  which  we  spend  our 
strength,  he   Death  and  the  Judgment. 
Ihey    are    like    great    mountain  -  peaks 
which  no  traveller  can  miss,  who  lifts  up 
his  eyes  from  the  ground,  though  but  for 
a  moment.    And  one  glance  every  day  at 
those     massive    certainties    should     be 
enough  to  purify  a  man's  purpose,  sober 
his  activity,  and  touch  him  to  sympathy 
with  things  eternal.   For  the  things  which 
really  matter  now,  are  the  things  which 
will  matter  then.    Would  any  man  in  his 


tbc  ZbitiQs  Ubat  Aatter       i6i 

senses  deliberately  pursue  a  purpose  now, 
the  memory  of  which  would  trouble  or 
torment  his  last  conscious  hours?    Would 
any  man  who  had  but  the  ordinary  busi- 
ness capacity  for  forecasting  the  future 
and  countmg  the  cost,  so  live  that  when 
he  appears   for  the  final  judgment,  he 
would  long  for  the  mountains  to  cover 
him  and  the  hills  to  fall  upon  him?    It  is 
possible  for  us  to  stand  in  His  presence 
on  that  day,  humble  indeed,  but  unafraid; 
possible,  however,  only  if  all  our  life  we 
have   been   standing   in    that    presence, 
walking  in   His  light,  and  talking  with 
Him  by  the  way.  till  His  Spirit  has  passed 
nto  our  spirit,  and  we  are  altogether  con- 
ent  with  the  things  that  are  well  pleasing 
in  His  sight.  * 

matter?  We  do  not  name  them,  for  we 
do  not  need.  Every  man  may  discover 
them  for  himself,  if  he  will  but  remember 
that  he  has  to  appear  one  day  before  the 
judgment  seat  of  Christ.  Not  merely 
appear-St.  Paul  means  more  than  that--- 
but  be  manifested,  and  seen  for  what  he 


i6a 


f  n  tbe  l^ottv  ot  Silence 


is.  The  Judge  will  see  through  us — that 
is  the  meaning  of  the  apostle — and  the 
things  that  matter  are  the  things  that  we 
may  bring  into  that  awful  presence  una- 
bashed. We  must  so  live  now  as  we 
would  wish  to  have  lived  then.  All  else 
matters  not. 


In  wbatdoever  state,  content. 


THE  DUTY  OF  CONTENT 

God   doeth    all    things    well.    Yet    it 
would  almost  seem  as  if  He  made  many  a 
mistake,  to  judge  by  the  discontent  with 
which  some  men  accept  the   discipline 
which  He  allots  them.    Discontent  is  a 
more  terrible  thing  than  the  victim  of  it 
dreams,  for  it  is  the  practical  denial  of 
the  love  and  wisdom  of  God.    It  implies 
that  God  does  not  know  the    way    by 
which  to  lead  us,  and  it  denies  that  He 
leads  us  in  love.    It  is,  in  essence,  rebel- 
lion; and  whether  it  be  the  greater  griefs 
of  life  or  the  pettier  vexations  of  every 
day  that  bring  the  murmurs  to  our  too 
ready  lips,  we  deny  in  our  hearts,  though 
we  may  confess  with  our  lips,  that  God  is 
our  Father  and  that  He  doeth  all  things 
well. 

There  is  indeed  a  discontent  which  is 
itself  a  gift  of  God— that  noble  discontent 

165 


Mil 


»«       In  tbc  ©our  ot  Silence 

with  the  coldness  of  our  response  to  the 
manifold  entreaties  of  God's  good  spirit, 
and  with    the    feebleness   of   our    fight 
against  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil. 
If  that  be  more  than  a  passing  gust  of 
self-reproach,  it  may  be  welcomed  as  the 
flutter  of  a  new  life.    There  is,  too,  a  dis- 
content with  the  subtle  injustices  of  soci- 
ety, which  may  impel  us  to  a  more  brave 
and    energetic   service.     But    discontent 
with  the  lines  in  which  our  lot  is  cast— 
that  is  only  possible  to  one  who  thinks 
more  highly  of  .himself  than  he  ought  to 
thmk.    It  is  the  offspring   of  an  inner 
conceit,  which  leads  a  man  to  claim  what 
he  does  not  deserve.    For  what  does  any 
man  deserve?    When  he  looks  out  upon 
the  severity  of  the  great  laws  which  he 
has  offended,  and  in  upon  the  checkered 
n-)tives    that  stain   the    best  of  all   he 
aoes,  he  can    only  confess    that    he    is 
unworthy  of  the  least  of  the  mercies  that 
crowd  his  days.    Discontent  is  the  other 
side  of  presumption.    We  have  no  right 
to  anything  but  opportunity.    That  we 
need;  without  that  we  cannot  grow.     But 


tTbe  9ntv  of  Content 


167 


that^e  all  have  in  obundancc.  Every 
day  is  richly  sown  with  opportunity— the 
more  real  the  vexation,  the  greater  the 
opportunity  to  grow  patient  and  strong. 
And  it  is  on  these  things  that  the  strenu- 
ous soul  should  be  set.  Strength  is  devel- 
oped only  by  strain,  and  men  are  made 
f^CiTect  through  suffering.  It  is  not 
aiv  lys  those  who  are  clothed  in  purple 
an  J  ine  linen  that  are  most  fit  for  the 
kirijfdom  of  God,  but  rather  those  who 
have  to  bear  some  cross  and  endure  some 
shame  or  sorrow. 

It  becomes  us,  therefore,  to  be  thank- 
ful not  only  for  what  we  enjoy,  but  still 
more  for  what  we  suffer.  For  as  there  is 
no  advantage  without  its  temptation, 
neither  is  there  any  vexation,  pain  or  sor- 
row, that  does  not  hide  some  blessing. 
The  great  grief  that  breaks  the  heart 
might  lead  us,  if  we  would  let  it,  to  set 
our  affections  upon  a  world  where  sorrow 
is  no  more.  The  disappointment  which 
cuts  long  cherished  plans  in  sunder,  the 
pettier  cares  on  which,  little  by  little,  we 
fret  our  hearts  away,  might  lead  us,  if  we 


I ! 


'^        In  tbe  Dour  of  Silence 

understood  them,  into  a  growing  inde- 
pendence  of  the  things  that  are  without 

wkht^  w "''  "". '°  '^^^  °"'-  happiness 
with  n.  We  need  more  of  the  temper  of 
the  lame  man  who  used  to  thank  God 

Sh-  "^w'^'  ""^^^  "°"^d  have 
called  his  misfortune;    "for,  had  I    not 

been  lame,  he  would  say,  "I  would  likely 
have  run  away  from  God."  There  are 
natures  which  can  suck  the  honey  out 
of  every  flower-which  can  rejoice  in  the 
sunshine  and  be  glad  in  the  rain;  and 
blessed  are  they  who  see  the  divine  possi- 
bihties  that  God  has  planted  within  the 
events  o^  their  daily  discipline,  and  most 
of  all  in  that  which  is  stern  and  sore. 

It  IS  there  that  the  real  treasures  lie- 
the  treasures  which  neither  moth  nor  rust 
can  corrupt-there  and  not  in  the  mate- 
rial  things  on  which  so  many  spend  their 
money  and  their  strength.  Of  those 
things  some  one  has  said  that,  when  the 

Z^Tf  V  '^""^  "^^^  '"  ^^'^  hearts,  we 
should  ask,  not  whether  we  need  them, 
but  whether  we  can  dispense  with  them. 
1  hat  IS  only  partly  true.    Life  is  not  nee 


I; 


Ube  H)uts  Of  Content  169 

essarily  any  the  fairer  when  it  is  stripped 
ot  all  that  money  can  buy. 

"Even  in  a  palace  life  may  be  led  well." 

But  though  it  is  true  that  the  noble  life 
may  use  those  things  nobly.it  does  not  need 
them.  The  fairest  life  among  the  sons  of 
men  was  l.ved  by  One  who  had  not  where 
to  lay  H,s  head.  After  all.  is  not  all  that 
IS  really  great,  deep,  and  essential  in  life 
within  the  reach  of  everybody:  the  won-' 

tT^  .  n  \  '^y  ^^°^^  "«'  'he  wise 
words  of  all  the  ages,  the  inspiration  of  a 
rooted  friendship,  the  dear  joys  of  home, 
the  romance  of  love,  the  instinct  of  wor- 
ship, the  memory  of  happy  days,  the 
means  of  grace  and  the  hope  of  glory? 

And  the  greatest  of  all  is  this,  that  in 
whatsoever  state  we  are,  there  is  the 
ever-present  opportunity  to  do  the  will  of 
Ood;  and  shall  we  not  therewith  be  con- 
tent? The  sunshine  that  plays  on  many  a 
face  that  has  looked  long  on  sorrow, 
streams  from  the  consciousness  of  an  in- 
violable  union  with  God,  and  humble 
adoration  of  His  blessed  will.    Have  we 


170         f  n  tbc  Dour  of  Silence 

not  Often  been  put  to  shame-we  who 
have  all  that  we  need  and  infinitely  more 
than   we  deserve-by  the  sight    of    the 
peace  that  has  transfigured   the  face  of 
some  poor  suffering  one,  doomed  never 
agam  to  see  more  of  God's  world  than 
she  could  see  from  the  window  of  the 
room  where,   for  weary  years,  she  has 
been  lying  m  pain?    She  sees  the  heavens 
opened,  and  she  is  content.    The  deepest 
joys  that  the  soul  can  know  come  to  him 
who  IS  content  to  do  the   Father's  will 
even  when  that    means    weariness    and 
nope  deferred. 

"Out  of  the  woods  my  Master  came, 
Content  with  death  and  shame."  ' 

Sijch  was  the  Master,  and  such  must 
be  all  who  love  Him. 

Content:  "For  iT^^?  hath  said,  'I  will 
not  fail  thee,  nor  forsake  thee.'"  He 
who  cannot  lie.  He  to  whom  belongeth 
the  earth  and  the  fulness  thereof.  He 
whose  are  the  issues  of  life  and  death  He 
whose  power  is  as  wide  as  His  pity.  He 
nath  said,  with  a  reassurance  that  thrills 


TTbc  WntiB  of  Content  171 

with  divine  passion,  as  if  He  could  not  too 
earnestly  persuade  the  doubting  hearts  of 
men, 

"I  will  in  no  wise  fail  thee, 
Neither  will  I  in  any  wise  forsake  thee." 

So  we  cannot  be  where  He  is  not.      In 
every  disappointment  we  may  have  the 
companionship  of  the  most  high  God.    In 
all  the  anxiety  with  which  our  hearts  throb 
as  we  think  of  dark  and  difficult  days  to 
come,   we    may   take    to    ourselves    the 
assurance    that    there    is    a   Father   in 
Heaven  who  cares,  and  whose  love  will 
never  depart.    And  shall  we  not  let  that 
sublime  assurance  from  the  mouth  of  God 
Himself,  lift  us  above  all  fretting  and  dis- 
content  into  that  peace  which  the  worM 
cannot  take  away? 


attetwat^  TCbott  wtit  receive  me  to 
0lotv. 


fi 


THE  GREAT  ELSEWHERE 

Christ  promised  Himself  much  from 
the  hereafter.  He  knew  that  the  cross 
was  the  end  of  His  earthly  ministry.  Yet 
He  was  calm  amid  treachery  and  cruelty; 
for  He  knew  that  that  cross  was  not  the 
end.     Beyond  it  lay  the  heavenly  glory. 

Behold  Him!  Rejected,  despised,  de- 
feated, alone,  but  with  soul  unshaken:  for 
the  future  was  His.  Beyond  the  horror 
of  the  thick  darkness  He  saw  "the  Son  of 
Man  coming  in  the  clouds  with  great 
power  and  glory." 

So  to  every  soul  that  is  sure  of  God, 
defeat  is  but  the  prelude  to  power  and 
glory. 

"My  feet  were  almost  gone,"  sang  one, 
"My  steps  had  well  nigh  slipped." 

His  heart  was  vexed  and  embittered  by 
the  dark  riddle  of  life;  till  it  came  upon 
him  with  a  flash,  in  one  of  those  deep 

175 


^76        f  n  tbc  Dour  ot  Silence 

moments  that  come 
for  them,  that  God 
God's  forever.  His 
the  presence  of  the 
ually  with  him,  and 
the  glory  that  would 
him. 


to  all  men  who  wait 
was  his,  and  he  was 

fears  melted  before 
God  who  was  contin- 
before  the  vision  of 
follow  when  He  took 


•'Nevertheless,  I  am  continually  with  Thee, 

And  afterward  receive  me  to  glory." 

Probably  as  many  hearts  are  broken 
by  defeat  as  by  sorrow;  and  for  the  one, 
as  for  the  other,  a  new  day  dawns  as  soon 
as  a  ghmpse  is  caught  of  that  larger  life 
which  awaits  us  in  the  great  elsewhere. 
Life  IS  full  of  unheeded  tragedy.    Many 
a  man  has  been  visited  by  dreams  of 
great  service.    He  has  kept  his  secret  to 
himself;  but  he  knew  that,  if  he  had  the 
chance,  he  had  the  power.    He  has  felt 
within  him  the  throb  of  a  high  purpose. 
His  soul  has  been  stirred  by  that  divine 
unrest  which  urges  all  resolute  natures  to 
press  on  to  the  things  which  are  before. 
He  has  only  waited  for  his  opportunity— 


Sbe  Oteat  Slsewbcre 


'77 

waited  for  weary  years;  and  the  oppor- 
tunity  never  came.  *^ 

com  ng;  ,t  ,s  for  us  to  open  our  eyes  and 
stretch  out  our  h^nA^  »~j  ■ 

«o  doubt  m  one  sense  every  day  is  a  loni? 
procession  of  opportunities     The  maL  of 

minVl  "'^i'*^"  ",«al»  of  his  common 
life  mto  gold;  and  his  life  will  be  the 
"Cher  for  all  that  it  touches.  Ye?  the 
opportunity  for  which  he  has  hoped  and 

hTS'f  '""°*  ^'^^■•"  which  wou'd 

power  al^"™  ^'™"  ""^  I"''  ?'««  and 
power  among   men,  never   came     The 

dream  remained  a  dream;  and  the  man' 

walks  his  way  through  the  lonely  years 

w.th  a  dull  pain  at  the  heart  of "^fm 

Unless  sorrow  has    chastened   him    Te 

sToutdTes*.'"^'"""---''^-"^'^ 

for  the  «t"^  suppressed  themseIvS 
for  the  sake  of  other  lives  which  were 
dearer  to  them  than  their  own,  or  ha"e 
been  suppressed  by  the  stroke  o  poverty 


i;8       In  tbe  ftonr  ot  Silence 

or  disease!    One  who  had  it  in  him  to  be 
a  philosopher,  an  artist,  a  poet,  is  known 
as  the  village  shoemaker.    Perhaps  his 
father  was  poor.    Perhaps    his    parents 
were  dead,  and  the  care  of  his  brothers 
and  sisters  fell  on  him,  and  blotted  out 
his  earthly  chances.    And  so  he  never 
learned  to  translate  his  beautiful  dream 
mto  language  which  might  have  helped 
or  thrilled  another.    Or  was  he  a  man  of 
rich,  fine  culture  and  sickness  shut  him 
out  of  the  great  world  in  which  he  had 
hoped  to  use  with  joy  the  power  that  had 
come  to  him  in  strenuous  hours  of  prep- 
aration?   He  scented  the  battle  afar  off, 
and  he  is  doomed  in  loneliness  to  listen  to 
the  clash  of  other  men's  arms.    Or  was  it 
some  girl,  who  longed  to  serve  her  Lord 
in  a  foreign  land?    But  her  parents  said 
no!  and  her  heart  is  sore. 

Why  did  God  make  us  with  those  high 
hopes?  Why  do  we  see  those  visions  and 
dream  those  dreams?  Why  do  we  thrill 
with  those  impulses  to  wider  action,  if  the 
end  is  to  be  pain,  defeat,  and  death?  Is 
It  not  because  afterwards  He  means  to 


«be  Orent  Bl«ewbere         179 

ITr^rr  "' u""  ^^"""y^    ^  «'^^'  German 
preacher  tells  of  a  farmer's  son  who  had 

a  genius  for  engineering.    His  father  kept 

stuV""R'/-''^  ^"^  ^°"^^  not  let  him 
study.      But  IS  It  not  a  grievous  pity" 

ZT  o"^  -f*'^'  y^'  *"^*^  ^  *^>^nt  should 
be  lost?  "Lostr  said  the  father,  "he  will 
use  It  m  heaven." 

Yes,  the  best  is  yet  to  be.    Our  hopes 
are  not  baulked  for  nothing.    Our  de- 
feated  ambitions  and  unrealized  yearn- 
inp  can  do  more  than  teach  us  submission. 
1  hey  can  wake  in  us  thoughts  of  a  larger 
lite  and  a  more  generous  world,  where 
the  powers  with  which  God  gifted  us  can 
be  used  without   impediment,    and    the 
opportunity  for  which    we    waited,  will 

will  fulfil  ,t,  If  not  here,  then  otherwhere. 
For  He  abideth  faithful.  He  cannot 
deny  Himself. 

But  is  not  Heaven  rest?  says  some 
weary  one.  Yes;  the  rest  of  joyous  un- 
impeded service,  the  rest  of  those  who 
serve  Him  day  and  night,  the  rest  of  those 
who  run  and  are  not  weary,  who  walk 


MICROCOPY   RBOLUTION  TBT  CHART 

(Ah4SI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


^    APPLIED  IIVHGE    Ir 


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(716)  482  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)  288 -5989 -Fox 


i8o 


In  tbe  Dour  of  Stience 


and  are  not  faint.  The  soul  which  has 
been  crowded  out  of  her  proper  place  by 
ruthless  circumstance  or  angry  competi- 
tion, will  breathe  freely  in  that  ampler 
air.  There  will  be  no  jostling  on  the 
streets  of  the  city  of  God.  In  company 
with  the  great  multitude  which  has  tasted 
the  sorrow  of  defeat,  we  shall  walk  about 
the  fields  of  light.  What  here  we  have 
yearned  for,  there  we  shall  enjoy.  What 
here  we  have  dreamed,  there  we  shall 
dare  and  do,  in  endless  unconstrained 
service,  advancing  from  knowledge  to 
knowledge,  and  from  glory  to  glory. 


XTbou  art  mindful  ot  Dim,  anD  TTbou 
vtBitcst  bfm. 


MINDFUL  OF  HIM 


"Thou  art  mindful  of  him,  and  Thou  vis- 
itest  him."  It  may  have  been  a  shepherd 
that  uttered  the  wonder  of  his  heart  in 
these  words,  as  night  after  night  he 
watched  the  splendors  of  the  sky  which 
the  fingers  of  his  God  had  framed,  and 
was  led  by  them  to  thoughts  of  the  all  but 
immeasurable  distance  that  severed  his 
God  from  himself.  He  was  so  little,  and 
God  and  His  heavens  were  so  great. 
Could  such  an  one  as  God  care  for  such 
an  one  as  he? 

One  night  the  sense  of  his  insignifi- 
cance in  the  light  of  the  transcendent 
glory  that  blazed  above  him,  yielded,  as 
at  a  touch  of  the  Almighty  hand,  to  a 
strange  uplifting  gladness  that  he  was 
greater  than  those  heavens  above  him; 
for  he  could  look  up  and  call  their  maker 
Lord,  while  they  rould  only  offer  Him 

.83 


», 


»«4        f  n  tbe  Dout  of  Silence 

their  silent  and  unconscious  homage.    He 
was  a  M;orshipper;    they  were  but   wit- 
nesses    They   witnessed,    because    they 
must;  he  worshipped,  because  he  would. 
%  virtue  of  his  mysterious  nature  he 
was  at  once  servant  and  lord;  possessed 
of  a  will  whose  glory  was  to  bow  in  rever- 
ent  adoration  before  Him  whose  name 
was  excellent  in  all  the  earth,  and  yet 
whose  duty  and  destiny  was  to  bend  to  its 
behests  all   the  works  of  God's  hands. 
With  awe  It  came  upon  him  that  there 
was    in    h.m    something    of   the    divine 
nature     He  saw  in  himself  the  image  and 
reflection    of    God,  whose   glory  flames 
from  sun  and  star.    He  could  enter  into 
fellowship  with  their  Creator;  he  could 

,^nH     V    .""*    ^.^/    ^"^    P"^    ^"    things 
under  his  feet.    He  was  lord,  as  God  was 

But  is  man  lord?  The  largeness  of  the 
Psalmist  s  faith  in  man  is  fully  justified 
only  by  the  perfect  humanity  of  Christ. 
He  IS  Lord,  and  beside  Him  there  is  none 
else,    bvery  year  is  confirming  in  ways 


/l^fn^tuI  or  Dim 


185 


that  are  all  but  fabulous,  man's  lordship 
over  things  material;  over  the  sheep  and 
oxen,  fowl  and  fish,  land  and  sea.  Even 
the  lightning  obeys  him,  and  the  stars 
reveal  to  him  their  secrets.  Yet  there  is 
a  realm  he  has  yet  to  win;  he  is  not 
master  of  himself. 

We  look  back  upon  centuries  of  com- 
parative moral  failure;  upon  arid  specula- 
tions, which  have  not  made  man  more 
upright,  or  God  more  probable,  or  more 
lovely,  upon  religions  which  have  car- 
ried in  their  train  massacre,  torture, 
idolatry,  and  immorality.  History,  every 
human  life,  proclaims  sadly  enough  that 
man  is  not  lord,  but  the  veriest  slave- 
slave  of  passion,  habit,  tradition. 

But  among  the  sons  of  men  there  has 
been,  nay,  there  is,  one  Lord,  even  Jesus. 
Not  among  the  sheep  and  oxen  do  we  see 
any  lordship  worthy  of  the  name.  We 
have  to  lift  up  our  eyes  to 

"That  bright  place  beyond  the  skies 
Where  Thou,  eternal  Light  of  Light, 
Art  Lord  of  all. " 

It  is  no  man  but  Jesus,  not   even  the 


186 


f  n  tbc  Dour  ot  Silence 


Jesus  who  walked  on  earth,  but  the  risen 
Chnst  who  said:     "All   authority   hath 

bfrl  7!,   ^  if ^P  ^"^  °^^"'  beasts  and 
birds  and  fish    yea,  and    the   immortal 
souls  of  men.    "Now  we  see  not  yet  all 
hmgs  subjected  to  Him.    But  we  behold 
Jesus  crowned  with  glory  and    honor." 
1  he  psalm  is  an  unconscious  prophecy  of 
Chnst,  who  alone  enjoys  perfect  undis- 
puted sovereignty,  and   who   alone    can 
restore  to  man  the  dominion  he  has  for- 
feited through  sin.    "All  things  are  ours," 

r^i  rV'?   •  ^;^'  ^'^^^"'^  "^^  a^e  Christ's, 
and  Christ  is  God's." 

wTtL'  thaf  bo'S'  f  "  '"^^   '^"°^^^^P 
witn  that  God  whose  nature  we    were 

,''nTn".i!°  ^^'^-  /^'•^^"gh  Him  we  enter 
into  the  secret  of  God,  and  learn  that  His 

nature  and  His  name  is  love.  In  Him  we 
see  a  thousandfold  more  plainly  than  the 
midnight  stars  could  suggest  to  us  that 
Thou  art  mindful  of  man  and  Thou 
visitest  him,"  for  it  was  in  Christ  that  He 
did  m  very  truth  visit  us  and  show  us 


AinMul  or  Dim 


187 


His  pitiful    heart  and    His  mindfulness 
of  us. 

And  when  this  precious  gift  came  down 
trom  heaven  upon  our  weary  earth,  we 
can  almost  fancy  we  hear  the  shepherds, 
who  were  abiding  in  the  field,  and  keep- 
ing  watch  over  their  flock  by  night    re- 
spondmg  to  the  angelic  song  in  the  words 
of  that  older  shepherd, 
"Oh  Jehovah,  our  Lord, 
How  excellent  is  Thy  name  in  all  the  earth. 
For  what  i;;  man,  that  Thou  art  mindful  of 
him? 

And  the  son  of  man,  that  Thou  visitest  him 
With  the  gift  of  Thy  well  beloved  Son?" 


«b!  mj  people,  remember. 


THE  PLACE  OF  MEMORY 

p-7^  fS"  ^'^^  ^  ^^^  memory,"   said 
Richard  Rothe,  "is  literally  a  poor  man." 
Does  not  this  utterance  find  only  too  sad 
an  echo  within  all  our  hearts?    At  no  time 
are  we  complete  masters  of  the  resources 
that  once  were  ours.    We  have  forgotten 
as  much  as  we  have  learned,  perhaps  more. 
We  search  in  vain  for  a  fact  which  was 
once  familiar,  and  it  may  lie   forgotten 
till  that  great  day  when  all  things  will  be 
brought    to    our    remembrance.     What 
would  we  not  give  to  recall  a  line  of  the 
song  our  mother  sang  a  hundred  times, 
or  to  live  over  again  the  joy  with  which 
we  listened  to  a  forgotten  story  in  the 
long  ago?    We  made  no  effort  to  hold 
these  things.    They  have  slipped  through 
the  too  loose  meshes  of  the  memory,  and 
we  are  the  poorer  for  their  passing.    We 
look  across  our  experience  of  the  years, 

191 


'9*       f  n  tbe  Dour  of  Silence 

w^te.    Our  garden  has  become  a  wilder- 

,h^n  !i        .  ""^   emotions   which   once 

ln?v      •"'  L'  "■*«f'''=  ^"°"&h.-  but  it  las 
nothing  to  the  vanishing  of  those  exne? 

r"  H  >  '^2,"^''  "'■'^'',  fn  days  gone  bv" 
God  laid  His  hand  upon  our  soul  ^^    ^' 

times  He  visited  u,  ;„  fK  ^°"'*" 

nf  fk.       ""j"™  us  in  the  summer  peace 

tVmi  h"°°^'  "^  ""^  mountains.  Some! 
and  torn  in  the  battle  of  the  citv  Rm 
whether  here  or  there,  there  hate  been 

ZT  "'''"  "^  "^^^  ^"^«  that  thLrea" 
Presence  was  very  near;  and  he  who  ~„ 
forget  these  times  is  poor  indeed  Agal^ 
and  again  we  have  had  to  pause  andTok 
at  the  strange  writing  on  our  life  We 
Again  and  again  we  have  had  to^y 
This  IS  .ne  finger  of  God."    But  the  a^' 

^^LTonT"  "^  "■  "^  ^-^-l  has  Cg 
since  gone  away,  and  left  us  the  dnll 

creatures  of  the  daily  round,  w hh  ets 

that  are  now  blind,  and  hearts  that  are 

hardened  to  the  divine  goodness  of  whfch 


Ubc  Place  of  Aemor^ 


193 

bol.  Well  might  an  ancient  psalmist  plead, 

"Oh  that  ye  would  hearken  to  His  voice  to-dayl 

Harden  not  your  heart,  as  in  the  wilderness.'* 

The  past  was  ringing  with  voices  for 
those  who  had  ears  to  hear -voices  of 
tender  pity,  and  voices  of  the  sternest 
warnmg  The  bones  of  a  rebellious  gen- 
eration  had  bleached  the  wilderness.  But 
there  were  hearts  then,  as  there  are  to- 

could  disciplme  and  humble. 

The  Bible  presses  a  continuous  appeal 
to  remember  and  forget  not.  The 
prophets  and  psalmists  knew  how  much 
depended  upon  a  good  memory,  how  full 
the  past  was  of  inspiration  and  of  warn- 
ing.  and  how  much  men  needed  to  look 

Ih  T\  Z  ""y  P"°P^^'  remember," 
pled  Micah.  Human  nature  is  ever  the 
same,  and  the  prophetic  appeal  to  remem- 
ber can  never  be  out  of  date.  Our  bad 
memory  explains  many  a  lapse  in  the 
Christian  life.  If  we  had  forgotten  less. 
we  should  have  served  more  and  better 


}{! 


'94        In  tbe  Dour  of  Sficncc 

But,  with  strangely  fatal  ease,  men  can 
forget  alike  their  terrors  and  their  deliv- 
erances. 

.K-^u  '^ru^-^V''  '"""^  ^"'^^  h*'"^''  and 
think  of  all  His  benefits.    Once  you  were 

hemmed   round    with    great    perplexity. 
1  here  was  distress  on  every  side.    The 
darkness  was  about  you,  and  you  knew 
not  which  way  to  turn.    Some  gaunt  figure 
blocked  your  way,-sickness,  sorrow,  pov- 
erty, defeat.    And  you  yearned  and  you 
prayed  in  mute  anguish  that,  if  God  would 
deliver  you  from  your  distress,  create  for 
you  a  new  opportunity,  and  bring  you  out 
into  a  broad  place,  you  would  serve  Him 
with  earnest  and  grateful  love  all  your 
days     And  your  prayer  was  heard.    The 
clouds  lifted.    The  way  was  clear,  and 
you  are  walking  on  that  way  to-day  with 
ease  and  pleasure.    But  is  your  service  as 
pure  and  zealous  as  you  had  vowed  in  the 
hour  of  your  distress  that  it  should  be? 
Have  the  old  terror  and  the  old  gladness 
ever  shaken  your  soul  again?    Have  you 
remembered,  or  have  you  forgotten? 
Think  again.    Once  you  were  assailed 


Ttbc  Place  of  /©cmorp         195 

with  fierce  temptation.    It  was  more  than 
half  your  fault  that  you  were  where  you 
could  he  tempted.    You  did  not  pray  for 
power  to  resist.    Did  you,  in  your  heart  of 
hearts,  even  wish  to  resist  ?    At  any  rate 
you  fell,  and  then  the  whole  horror  of  it 
flashed  upon  you.    How  paltry  was  the 
gam,  and  how  tragic  the  loss!    And  you 
lifted  up  y     f  face  with  shame  to  heaven 
and  sobbea  .  it  the  prayer,  "Bless  me,  even 
me  also,  my  Father."    You  believed  sin- 
cerely enough   that  that  moment  would 
humble  you  forever  in  your  own  sight.   But 
you  have  taken  care  to  keep  the  memory 
of  It  far  from  you.    It  is  the  unclean  thing 
which  you  have  skilfully  buried  out  of 
sight.     But,  oh!  my  brother,  remember. 
Do  not  be  afraid  to  recall  the  hour  of 
your  shame.    It  will  teach  you  again  your 
unutterable  weakness  and  your  unutter- 
able need  of  God.    It  will  bring  home  to 
you  again  the  exceeding  sinfulness  of  sin. 
It  will  cause  you  to  judge  your  fellows 
with  charity,  and  to  walk  with  humility 
before  your  God. 

The  memory  must  be  cultivated,  or  the 


196        In  tbe  l)ottr  ot  Silence 

progress  will  be  slow  indeed.    We  dare 
not  forcret  all  His  benefits.    We  cannot 
forget  any  of  His  benefits  without  being 
so  much  the  poorer.    The  more  we  for- 
get   the  more  we    lose    in    power   and 
enthusiasm.    Every  man  has  in  the  yes- 
terday of  his  life  some  sacred  spot  at 
which  he  can  rekindle  his  faith  and  grati- 
tude, if  only  he  revisits  it.    We  cannot  do 
without  our  past.    It  is  full  of  stimulus 
and  warning.    It  is  fitted  both  to  encour- 
age  our  faith  and  to  lead  us  to  repent- 
ance.     When    Peter    remembered    the 
words  of  the  Lord,  he  wept  bitterly;  for 
memory  can  lead  to  contrition,  and  con- 
trition to  renewal.    But  if  we  stifle  the 
memory  of  those  words  which  God  has 
spoken  to  us  in  moments  of  temptation, 
danger,  or  trial,  we   commit  the   dead- 
liest crime  against  our  own  soul;  for  we 
harden  our  hearts  and  close  upon  our- 
selves the  open  doors  of  heaven. 

And  yet  we  are  so  made  that  we  can- 
not  altogether  forget.  Sometimes  the 
past  looks  in  upon  us.  It  does  not  forget 
us,  though  we  forget  it.    The  thing  we 


TCbc  Place  of  Aemory         197 

had  forgotten  flashes  across  the  years  h'ke 
hghtning,  and  illumines   for   one   lurid 
moment  the  hardness  and  ingratitude  of 
our  hearts.    In  that  light  let  us  look  at 
ourselves,  for  God  is  giving  us  another 
chance  to  consider  and  repent.    But,  if 
we  do  not  encourage  the  past  to  visit  and 
instruct  us  it  will  visit  us  when  it  is  too 
late  and  when  its  presence  can  only  mock 
and  terrify,  for  we  read  of  one  who  lifted 
up  his  eyes  in  torment,  and  prayed  but 
for  a  drop  of  water,  and  across  the  great 
gulf  fixed  came  the  awful  answer,  "Son, 
remember!" 


Sebold!   f  Btanb  at  tbc  boor,  and 
Rnocft* 


THE  STRANGER  AT  THE  DOOR 

No  man  can  be  very  far  from    the 
Saviour.    He  is  either  in  my  house  or 
standing  before  my  door.    If  He  is  not 
yet   my   guest,  He  yearns    to   be;  and 
between  Him  and  me  there  can  be  no 
more  than  a  door,  though  that  door  may 
be    bolted    and    barred.    "Behold!"    He 
says;  and  over  the  mystery  that  follows 
this  arresting  word,  let  me  not  too  lightly 
hasten.^  "Behold!  I  stand  at  the  door  and 
knock."     Oh    miracle   of   inhospitality! 
That  I  should  sit,  careless  and  comfort- 
able, within  my  house,  and  have  no  ears 
for  the  knocking  or  that  Stranger  without 
the  door. 

This  tender  message  was  first  spoken 
to  a  luke-warm  church,  which  thought  she 
was  wise  and  wealthy  and  had  need  of 
nothing.  But  one  thing  she  needed 
sorely,  even  the  Saviour  whom  she  kept 


«»        In  tbe  eonc  of  Silence 

"ollld^hfnV'l' *!?•"•  Any  Church  which 
.Wh  k  "  '°  '^'P'"'*  ""h  "ini,  must 
indeed  be  "wretched  and  miserable  and 
poor  and  blind,"  and  she  may  have  to^ 
woke  up  from  the  slumber  tha'^^glldl.tn^ 
death  by  a  loud  knock  at  her  i„hos"tab  " 
doors.  For  the  Stranger  of  whose  riX 
she  ,s  so  careless,  loves  her  with  all  the 
pass,on  of  His  Saviour  heart,  and  He  ^l! 

hlT  r^,  '°  '?"  '•'«  *'■"  "°'  fail  to 
hear.    A  solemn  knock  it  may  be   as  a 

stroke  of  pain  or  sorrow;  for  "a^s  miny  a^ 

I  love,  I  reprove  and  chasten."    That  is 

n  -"fj,""'"  ''""L''.'  «  "oors  wWch  do 
n<    gladly  open  to  His  coming 

rtnd  as  with  the  church,  so  with  the 
man.  Prosperous  and  lazii;  content  wkh 
the  warm  but  delusive  comfort  with  n  we 
close  our  doors  against  that  g„c  ous 
Wayfarer,  whose  delight  is  to  dwel 
among  men  and  to  find  a  home  am^ng 
those  whom  He  is  not  ashamed  to  cal! 
H  s  brethren.  He  cannot  pass  us  by 
H,s  heart  ,s  too  full.    Our  closed  doT; 

alyze  It.    He  longs  to  be  within.    He  be- 


Zh€  Stranger  at  tbc  »oot      203 

lieves-such  is  His  faith  in  man-that  if 
He  knoc'cs,  it  will  be  opened  unto  Him. 
i>o  He  knocks  as  on  earth  He  may  have 
knocked,  when   the    night  came  on,   at 
the  door  of  some  fisherman's  house  on 
the  shores  of  that  memorable  sea  where 
many  of  His  mighty  works  were  done. 
He  knocks  and  waits  and  listens  with 
beatmg  heart,  to  see  if  we  will  let  Him  in. 
But  If  He  loves  me  so,  why  does  He 
not  lift  the  latch  and  come  in?    Ahl  per- 
haps  He  cannot.    Perhaps  I  have  barred 
out  such  as  He.    And  besides,  this  is  a 
door  which  can  be    opened    only  from 
within.    If  I  do  not  open  it.  He  cannot; 
and  so  gentle  a  Stranger  will  not  force 
the  door.    The  perilous  privilege  of  hos- 
pitality is  mine.    It  is  mine  to  welcome  or 
reject  the   kingliest  Stranger  that  ever 
came  to  human  door. 

And  if  His  knock  be  unrecognized 
or  unheard  amid  the  household  noise 
Within,  surely  I  will  know  His  voice;  for 
He  knows  that  only  the  door  hides  me 
from  Him,  and  He  speaks  as  well  as 
knocks;  for  He  believes  that  I  can  be 


*>4       In  tbe  i^nr  of  mitnct 

touched  b>    the  pity  and  the  love  that 

, .  V^^  T'^  °^  ""  ^w*-  voice.  "It 
>•  I,    He  tells  me,  half  pleadingly,  half 
reassuringly,  "and  if  any  man  hear  my 
voice,  and  open  the  door.  I  will  come  in 
^  him  and  sup  with  him,  and  he  with 
me.      Can  it  be  that  any  man  would  not 
listen  to  such  a  voice,  and  open  his  door 
with  gladness?    He  longs.  He  pleads  for 
a  place  at  my  table.    Is  it  true?    "I  with 
Him,  and  He  with  me."    This  humble- 
ness, this  brotherliness,  rebuke  me.  amaze 
me.    Then  with  a  flash  the  whole  scene 
IS  transformed,  and  I  see  it  with  other 

T"   I,  "J  ^''^.  '"^'"  «*>^    Christ.    So 
after  all  He  is  host,  and  I  am  guest.    It 

IS  He  who  prepareth  the  table  and  it  is  of 

Mis  good  things  that  I  partake. 

To  the  man  who  loves  the  Lord,  life 

might  be  one  long  festival  with   Christ. 

Wo    man  need  sup  in    loneliness.    The 

Master  is  willing  to  share  all  with  him, 

tftough  It  be  in  an  upper  room;  but  only 

If  he  open  the  door  and  let  Him  in.    It 

IS  for  us  to  have  the  open  ear.  to  learn 

and  understand  the  many  ways  in  which 


ttbe  0tt«nacr  iit  tbe  9oor      20$ 

Christ  knocks  and  speaks  to  men.    Every 
stroke  that  falls  upon  our  health  or  for- 
tune, every   breach    that   death    makes 
amonu  our   friendships,    is   as   another 
knock  of  the  Christ  who  is  yearning  to 
enter  our  life,  to  possess,  redeem  and 
transfigure.    But  He  can  gently  speak  as 
well  as  loudly  knock;  and  happy  is  the 
man    who  has  ears  to  hear.    In  every 
gracious  thought  that  visits  us,  in  every 
yearning  after  better   things,    in   every 
solemn  resolution  for  the  days  to  come, 
in  every  tender  memory  of  days  gone  by, 
Christ  is  standing  before  our  door  saying 
"It  is  I."    Christmastide  is  one  brief,  ten- 
der, manifold  appeal.    You  cannot  escape 
it.      It    speaks    to    you  from    the  glad 
eyes  of  the  children.    It  wh?  pers  from 
the  glittering  heavily  hden  trees  in  many 
a  home  and  church.    It  throbs  in  the  gift 
that  friend  sends  friend.    It  rings  in  the 
carols  on  the  streets  and  in  the  churches. 
The    air   is    charged    with    a    thousand 
gracious  memories.    What  is  it  all  but 
the  audible  voice  of  Christ?    He  is  stand- 
ing at  my  door  and  knocking. 


2o6        fit  tbc  Dour  ot  Silence 

Lord,  I  hear  Thy  voice;  come  in  and 
sup  with  me.  and  abide  with  me  evermore 
—Thou  with  me  and  I  with  Thee. 


ONE  STEP  ENOUGH 

Our  times  are  in  His  hand:  to-morrow 
no  less  than  to-day,  to-day  no  less  than 
to-morrow.  It  were  unworthy,  then,  to 
look  across  the  coming  year  with  fear  or 
hesitation,  as  if  its  unknown  ways  had  to 
be  trodden  alone,  as  if  there  were  no 
leather  to  care  for  us,  or  Saviour  to  plead 
for  us,  or  Spirit  to  comfort  us. 

But  we  love  best  to  walk  by  sight,  and 
not  by  faith.    We  would  not  be  treated 
as  a  child,  and  guided  where  we  go.    We 
would  rather  plan  our  way,  and  strain  our 
eyes   towards    the    far   dis' -nces-those 
toohsh  eyes  which  cannot  see  even  the 
nearest  bend  of  the  road.    We  set  out  for 
Damascus  with   letters    from    the    high 
priest;  but  we  are  struck  down,  and  the 
letters   are   never    delivered.    We    are 
rudely    stopped    in    our   way,    like   the 
Cyrenian,  and  compelled,  with  the  cross 

ao9 


j  : 


2»o        In  tbe  Dour  ot  Silence 

of  Christ  upon  our  shoulders,  to  march 
with  Him  towards  Calvary.  We  cannot 
see  a  step  of  our  way.  Clouds  and  thick 
darkness  are  about  it.  What  can  we  do 
but  trust?  If  we  cannot  trust,  then  we 
shal  have  to  fret  and  scheme;  and  it  will 
be  all  over  with  our  peace,  to  say  nothing 
of  our  joy. 

But  if  we  would  reassure  our  restless 
hearts  that  our  future  is  in  the  hands  of 
Uod,  we  have  but  to  scan  our  past,      "an 
any  man  that  is  not  altogether  blind  look 
over  the  w^y  he  has  traversed  without 
surprise  and  awe,  as  he  sees  it  marked 
everywhere    by    mysterious     foot-prints 
other  than  his  own-even  the  foot-prints 
of  the  living  God?    We  thought  we  were 
going  a  way  of  our  own;  and  all  the  time 
we  have  been  on  the   King's  highway. 
Another    has    been    walking    with    us. 
though  our  eyes  were  holden  and  we  saw 
Him  not,  and  many  a  time  He  has  turned 
our  steps  to  the  right  hand  or  to  the  left, 
into  His  way  which  was  not  our  way. 
How  strange  seem  our  early  dreams  and 
purposes  in  the  light  of  life's  later  story. 


®ne  Step  JEnougb  211 

The  longest  way  must  be  traversed  a 
step  at  a  time,  and  if  we  faint  at  the 
thought  of  life's  long,  and  maybe  perilous 
way,  may  we  not  at  any  rate  brace  our 
faith  to  take  the  single  step  which  here 
and  now  is  needed?    The  way  is  dark: 
but  the  darkness  and  the  light  are  both 
alike  to   Him.    There    is    solid    ground 
beneath    our    feet.     He    hath    beset    us 
behmd.    Will  He  not  also  beset  us  before? 
<x?^^!^^[  thy  way,  then,  unto  the  Lord. 
With  the  grand  imperiousness  of  love, 
Christ  continually   presses  upon  us  the 
large  and  awful  claims  of  the  future;  but 
He  presses  no  less  earnestly  upon  us  the 
necessity  of  quietly  and  confidently  trust- 
ing the  Father's  goodness  from  day  to 
day.    We  are  to  take  no  anxious  thought 
for  the  morrow,  which  we  may  never  see 
It  is  for  each  day's  bread  that  we  are 
taught  to  pray.    And  the  greatest  hymn 
of  the  Christian  church  teaches  us  to  lift 
our    hearts    to    God    with    the    prayer: 
Vouchsafe,  O  Lord,  to  keep  us  this  day 
without  sin." 

If  we  could  wake  with  the  thought  that 


212        In  tbe  ftour  of  Silence 

this  new-born  day  is  as  divine  as  any  day 
ever  was  or  can  be,  with  what  quiet  >oy 
would  we  move  on  to  all  its  duties  and 
cares!  The  cares  and  duties  that  lie 
beyond  the  coming  night  will  be  illumined 
by  the  kindly  light  of  another  day.  Each 
new  day  will  be  another  day  with  God, 
and  so  we  can  abide  any  issue  with 
patience  and  with  hope:  for  the  issues  are 
with  Him. 

"I  do  not  ask  to  see  the  distant  scene, 
One  step  enough  for  me." 

The  mist  may  be  heavy  that  lies  upon 
the  landscape;  but  the  way  we  know. 
Christ  has  made  that  plain  enough  tc  the 
willing  heart.  It  is  the  way  of  obedience 
to  the  Father's  blessed  will.  Therefore 
we  will  step  fearlessly  forward  through 
every  night  of  doubt  and  care  and  sor- 
row, in  the  sure  hope  of  an  everlasting 
day.    Our  earthly  days  are  but  as  steps 

"That  slope  thro'  darkness  up  to  God." 


